


(don't) help me

by Slice_of_Apple



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftermath of Physical Assault, Aged-Up Character(s), Alpha Kageyama Tobio, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angry Kageyama Tobio, Angry Oikawa Tooru, Angst, Atypical ABO, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oikawa Tooru is a Little Shit, Omega Oikawa Tooru, Protective Iwaizumi Hajime, Protective Kageyama Tobio, Romance, Sweet, Vulnerable Oikawa Tooru, brief spoilers about season 2, descends into fluff ;-), does not adhere to any actual volleyball schedule, doesn't follow story line, not smutty, plot may not necessarily be coherent ;-), some ooc stuff maybe probably, they're both college volleyball players at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slice_of_Apple/pseuds/Slice_of_Apple
Summary: At the start of summer break, alpha Kageyama comes across an omega being attacked in an alley. He can't believe that it's Oikawa Tooru.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 237
Kudos: 358
Collections: Haikyuu!! Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title will change if i can come up with something better
> 
> pls let me know if names/honorifics are off! i'm always uncertain about those
> 
> Also, there will not be any smut. There will be a very fluffy ending. (you’ve been warned ;-)
> 
> apologies for typos, etc; i usually can't see these until things are posted, and have to correct them after

Kageyama leans over Oikawa, taking stock. He’s a mess. His right eye is already turning black and is so swollen it is almost completely shut at this point. Blood is trickling down his forehead. Maybe there was a ring on one of the hands that plowed into Oikawa’s face? All the buttons on his shirt have been ripped off and it’s hanging off his shoulders. His arm is resting at an unnatural angle in his lap.

“Oikawa-san,” Kageyama says in a low voice.

Oikawa flinches at the sound of his voice, then visibly relaxes when he realizes who is talking. “Tobio-chan.”

It’s a huge relief that he can speak.

“I’m going to call the police and an ambulance.”

He thinks at first that Oikawa will protest, say he’s not that hurt. But he doesn’t. He is.

Kageyama fumbles getting his phone out.

It was just a huddle of figures, when Kageyama came out the back door, into the alley. He wasn’t even sure what drove him out there – a restless, unsettled feeling.

A group of alphas, joking, messing around. Nothing to do with Kageyama. He barely gave them a glance. _Until._ Until the high, sharp cry of an omega in distress penetrated Kageyama’s skull, with a voice Kageyama immediately recognized, even before he realized that he did.

Kageyama doesn’t really remember what happened next. It’s a dull, red, haze of fury. There was a scatter of voices, of feet, the thud of his fists on something, and then only his own harsh breathing after they had disappeared into the night.

He shakes off the memory. No time to be thinking of that. There is only Oikawa in front of him, clearly in need of medical attention.

There is a sound of footsteps, and Kageyama whirls around. Are they coming back? With reinforcements, perhaps? He hastily pockets the phone and assumes an aggressive, hostile stance.

“Oikawa?” calls a voice. “Are you out here?”

Kagyama can’t see anything but a dark shadow outside of the circle of lamplight. He lets out a low, warning growl.

“What’s going on?” says the voice.

The steps slow down but keep coming.

Kageyama relaxes ever so slightly. It’s only one guy, and a beta at that. The guy doesn’t have the same smell as any of those other guys, either, and he called out to Oikawa with familiarity. Kageyama thinks it’s okay, that this guy might even represent help, but he’s not fully letting his guard down. Not with Oikawa in the state he’s in.

“Tooru. Is that you?” asks the voice again, uncertainly, still moving closer.

Kageyama feels something else, a wash of jealousy. Who is this person calling Oikawa by his first name?

“Shit!” Then, to Kagayama. “Get away from him. _Now!_ ”

But there is no way in hell Kageyama is leaving Oikawa’s side. He stands, unmoving, his hackles raised.

The guy keeps walking, and soon his instantly recognizable, spiky hair comes into view. Kageyama relaxes again. It’s Iwaizumi.

When Iwaizumi can finally see Oikawa clearly, limp against the wall, Kageyama looming over him, his eyes widen furiously. “What the fuck did you do, Kageyama?!!”

The rational part of Kageyama’s brain understands that Iwaizumi is only taking in what he sees before him. That the sight is filling Iwaizumi with both fear and anger, as it did Kageyama. That Iwaizumi is Oikawa’s deepest, oldest friend ( _and more?_ Kageyama finds himself wondering stupidly and… jealously?). That he and Kageyama both have the same goal right now, to see Oikawa protected and taken care of.

But his automatic response to Iwaizumi’s challenge is to bristle and stare Iwaizumi down. Even if Iwaizumi had approached him in friendship, it would have been difficult for him to relax, with Oikawa still lying in the street, bloody and traumatized.

The stalemate is broken when Oikawa, apparently waking up to what’s going on around him, calls out, falteringly, “Iwa- Iwa-chan?”

At these words, Iwaizumi immediately rushes in and crouches down next to him.

Kageyama has no choice but to step aside. He yanks out his phone to call the ambulance and the police, keeping an eye and ear half-cocked on Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“What the hell happened, you idiot?” Iwaizumi is asking, but his voice is very gentle as he looks carefully at Oikawa’s head.

“The – the guys at the bar,” gasps Oikawa, almost sobbing. Oikawa clearly has been working hard to hold it together, because once Iwaizumi is at his side – Iwaizumi, who he trusts with his life – he lets himself fall apart. “They figured it out. Took me… out here.”

“What?” Iwaizumi is shocked. “How could they tell?”

“I don’t know.” It’s a sigh. There’s no trace of Oikawa’s usual airy tone. This is Oikawa without the sweet and sour layer of frosting he usually wears.

“Did they… What did they do to you?”

“Punched me a few times. And my-my arm.” He hisses as Iwaizumi gently probes it. Iwaizumi immediately withdraws his fingers.

OIkawa adds, a moment later, in a wobbly voice. “They would have done a lot more if – if Tobio-chan hadn’t shown up.”

“Why didn’t you ask one of us to go with you, you asshole?”

“I thought – I thought I could handle it.” Oikawa blows out a breath. “I hate – I hate being so fucking _weak_!” Kageyama can hear the angry, frustrated tears in his voice.

The response is instant. “Shut up, Shittykawa! Everyone knows you’re the strongest one on the team.”

“What does that – what does that fucking _matter_ , if I can’t even get a drink on my own?”

“Hey, hey, shhhhh, hey, shhh,” A quick glance and he can see Oikawa’s shoulders shuddering as he drops his face into Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Kageyama wonders, idly, why Oikawa has no bond mark. Why Iwaizumi isn’t scenting him right now. It seems so odd, when Kageyama himself feels an almost overwhelming compulsion to tuck Oikawa into his neck and mark him all over his body, protect him, keep him there, warm and safe. He seen betas with omegas before. It’s not the most common thing in the world, but not rare, either. Maybe these two have some kind of unusual mating relationship. It’s none of Kageyama’s business, anyway. He’s going to see this through, because, at this point, he can’t _not_ see it through. He’ll make sure Oikawa is safe at the hospital, then he’ll get the hell out of this crazy, alternate universe where _Oikawa Tooru_ , of all people, is a fucking _omega_.

Oikawa has been locked into a stretcher, looking uncomfortable but secure in a neck brace, his arm splinted, as the paramedics slide him efficiently into the ambulance.

“Who’s coming with him?” asks one of the paramedics impatiently.

As one, Kageyama and Iwaizumi look at each other. Kageyama hesitates, and Iwaizumi leaps into the ambulance.

The paramedic squints at Kageyama and sighs, beckoning him over.

“You better come too,” she says, pointing at the telltale red stain on Kageyama’s shirt. He hadn’t even noticed the blood himself.

After Kageyama’s wound has been superficially cleaned, and a white gauze pressed into it, he settles into the available seat. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that Oikawa, _Oikawa Tooru, who was captain of the Aoba Johsai team_ , is an omega. There aren’t many topnotch omega volleyball players. Kageyama is aware of only two others: Kenma Kozume, who used to play for Nekoma, and Akaashi Keiji, who was at Fukurodani. It’s not a coincidence that all three are setters. Omega setters are naturally gifted in reading their teammates' abilities and moods, at giving them the tosses they need and want, at wrangling the best possible performances out of them. In this way, it makes sense that Oikawa is an omega. He has an uncanny ability to connect with his teammates, to coax and cajole the best out of each of them. Kageyama has seen this ability in play time and time again.

But Oikawa is also such a prickly, nasty, awful, needling person! In truth, he’s the exact opposite of the quintessential sweet, soft, accommodating, omega.

Kageyama wonders absently how much of what Oikawa shows to the world is his natural personality, and how much has been purposefully cultivated as a defense mechanism.

Regardless, Oikawa has obviously set very lofty goals for himself. It’s no secret he wants to play professionally, and as a starter no less. As an omega, this seems like it should be an impossibility. There has never been an omega player on the Japanese national team, and there are no prominent omega international players, to Kageyama’s knowledge.

Kageyama finds himself filtering everything he ever knew about Oikawa through this new, strange lens. Then he stops himself. Why would he think differently about Oikawa, solely because he now knows that he’s an omega? That’s the exact prejudice Oikawa has probably been fighting his whole life, why he has kept his status such a secret. It’s unpleasant for Kageyama to realize his own unconscious complicity in perpetuating these stereotypes. Nonetheless, he also can’t stop himself from being impressed that Oikawa has accomplished so much, despite his circumstances. He’s always been impressed with Oikawa anyway, but now…. 

After he's spent some time trying to adjust to this unexpected reality, Kageyama asks himself another question. Why does he suddenly feel so invested in Oikawa’s well-being? But he answers this one readily enough. Of course he feels protective of Oikawa. Anyone would. It’s only natural, after seeing him attacked in such a manner. 


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Kageyama’s wound has been properly stitched up (it’s not very big, only 3 stitches are needed), he is brought to a small waiting room for friends and family of omega patients. Only Iwaizumi is there.

They nod briefly at each other, and Kageyama sits down to wait.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally growls at Iwaizumi, “When will they let us in?”

“Once they’re sure we’re not the ones who did that to him,” says Iwaizumi in a low voice.

“What?”

“Omegas are most frequently abused by their partners.”

Kageyama is shocked into silence by this statement. He stands up and proceeds to spend a second eternity prowling restlessly around the room.

He can’t help eventually blurting out the question that’s been flopping around in his mind since Iwaizumi showed up.

“Why aren’t you two bonded?”

It’s a horribly rude thing to say, and under normal circumstances would almost certainly earn him at least a punch.

Iwaizumi looks like he is indeed about to launch himself angrily at Kageyama, but all that happens is that his hair becomes even spikier than it normally is.

He says, with obvious reluctance. “We tried, actually. In the past. But it – it didn’t work.” It’s plainly a sore point, and Iwaizumi is flaming red. He continues, evidently feeling honor-bound to lay it all out, “It didn’t work on – on both sides.” Ah. It wasn’t only Iwaizumi who didn’t want the bond. Kageyama is both impressed and grateful for the honesty. He wonders, in fact, why Iwaizumi has volunteered such very personal information.

But Iwaizumi isn’t done yet. “We may not be bonded, but Tooru is… special to me. You did an amazing thing, intervening like that. I’m not sure what would have happened to him if you hadn’t been there. Thank you.” So that’s it. Iwaizumi’s own relief and gratitude are prompting him to speak.

Kageyama shrugs, embarrassed by the praise. He’s about to say, “Anyone would have done the same,” but stops himself. While he does feel like it’s true that anyone would likely have come to Oikawa’s defense, something stops him from explicitly reinforcing the idea that he is just anyone (that is, _no one in particular_ ) to Oikawa.

_What?_ What the hell is going on in his own mind?

He’s saved from trying to mentally unpack this can of worms by a face poking into the waiting room.

“Is there an Iwaizumi Hajime here?”

Iwaizumi’s head snaps up.

“Oikawa-san is asking for you.”

Iwaizumi leaves.

He’s gone for some time. Kageyama continues to wander restlessly around the small room. What’s he doing, anyway, staying here? But he knows that he can’t leave. Not yet. Not with all this pent-up _something_ churning around inside of him. Not until he sees for himself that Oikawa is okay.

When Iwaizumi returns, Kageyama can’t read his expression.

“How is he?” he asks, doing his best to keep the fear out of his voice.

“Better. They’re going to keep him overnight for observation.” Iwaizumi’s voice drops. “Because he’s an omega. Apparently sometimes they can go into shock after being assaulted like that. It doesn’t seem like that would happen, but if it does happen it can be pretty sudden and dangerous.”

“Can I see him? Before I leave?” Kageyama flushes, but he can’t not ask. He’s too far in at this point.

Kageyama sees the struggle on Iwaizumi’s face, but all he does is shrug and say, “Ask the doctor.”

Kageyama nods, his next words interrupted by an angry voice speaking outside the open door of the room.

“You spoil him too much. All this independence. Suppressing his secondary gender. What good has it done? What good will it do in the long run? What will happen to Tooru next? Maybe it won’t be just a black eye and a broken arm. It’s only luck that it wasn’t worse.” The voice is harsh, older, male. It must be Oikawa’s father.

There is only a guilty sob in return. The voice continues, “Tooru must be bonded to an alpha as soon as possible. Then he can get down to his proper business, the business of being an omega. He can put all this volleyball foolishness behind him.”

Volleyball _foolishness?_

Iwaizumi gives Kageyama a warning look, but it is only when he moves to stand in front of Kageyama that Kageyama realizes he has unconsciously made his way to the door.

He stops suddenly. Of course it’s not his place to confront Oikawa’s parents. But _what the fuck?!_ Apparently, it’s not just his omega status that Oikawa has had to fight against to make it as far as he has.

“I need some air,” says the first voice. “You could use some too. Take the opportunity to pull yourself together. You’re not helping Tooru by falling apart in this useless way.” Two sets of footsteps walk away: one firm, angry, determined; the other shuffling, sad, guilty.

The doctor comes in a short time later to give Iwaizumi an update. Luckily, no concussion, but Oikawa’s arm is indeed broken. It’s not a bad break, he likely won’t need surgery, but he’ll be in a cast for four to six weeks, then a brace after that, with restricted activities.

Kageyama inhales sharply. No receives, no spikes, _no serves_ for some time. Luckily, summer break has just started, and Oikawa would be officially off during a good chunk of this time anyway. But it will be a grim way for Oikawa to spend the summer. _Without volleyball_.

“May I see Oikawa-san?” asks Kageyama as the doctor is about to leave.

“And who are you?” she returns bluntly.

“I’m a friend.” It’s not strictly true, but it’s the best answer he can give. At her questioning look, he adds, “I was there. Tonight.”

“He’s the one who fought off the attackers,” Iwaizumi says. Again, Kageyama is grateful. Iwaizumi didn’t have to back him up.

“Ah, right. Tobio-chan, is it?” she says with a smile. Kageyama blushes furiously. Stupid Oikawa! “Oikawa-san mentioned you.” She actually leans in to _smell_ him (!), then stares at him consideringly for a brief moment. She eventually says, “You can have 5 minutes. Then he needs to rest. He may already be asleep, after the medication he’s been given.”

Oikawa is indeed fast asleep. He is wearing hospital pajamas, and is curled over on his side, his arm heavily splinted and propped up on a mountain of pillows in front of him. The arm will be casted tomorrow, before he leaves. He looks smaller than he usually does, and much younger, even with the swollen black eye. His face has been cleaned up, and there’s a bandage over his forehead, just below his hairline.

Kageyama finds his heart beating fast at the sight. He brushes a finger lightly against Oikawa’s cheek. Oikawa’s skin is very, very soft. Kageyama lets his hand drift down Oikawa’s uninjured arm, the one resting in front of his face. 

Oikawa mumbles something in his sleep, and his face seems to relax even further. His fingers curl loosely around Kagayama’s. It feels like those fingers are wrapping around Kageyama’s chest, around his thumping heart. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Once again, the compulsion to scent mark Oikawa, to stand over him all night while he’s sleeping, guarding him, sweeps through Kagyeyama.

_What?!!_ Where the hell is that coming from? It’s ridiculous. Kageyama has no claim on Oikawa. Even worse, he knows that he means nothing to Oikawa. Less than nothing. Oikawa has always hated him. But he can’t help himself. Something, clearly, has changed, for him anyway, and he seems to have no control over it. It takes a great deal of effort to carefully remove his hand and walk out the door.

By the time he gets home, it’s 3 in the morning, and he spends an unhappy rest of the night, tossing and turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am always uncertain about the names/honorifics. if any are off base, please correct me - thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

It’s the Saturday after Oikawa’s discharge from the hospital. Kageyama knows because Iwaizumi was thoughtful enough to text him the information. Apparently, Oikawa will now be staying in Miyagi for the entire summer break. Kageyama will, too. A few weeks ago , he had been pretty disappointed that he had to take the makeup class over the summer, but now he’s glad. He won’t have much volleyball, anyway, not until training camp at the end of the summer. And the online class schedule gives him the flexibility to meet up with Hinata and Tsukishima for impromptu practices, and maybe time for… other things as well.

He feels unaccountably nervous, ringing the doorbell at Oikawa’s family home. So what if he hasn’t warned anyone he’s coming? It’s a perfectly natural thing to do, checking up on an injured friend. Or colleague. Or rival. Or hated enemy. Whatever. He’s already here, he’s not going to leave without trying.

Iwaizumi, answering the door, is surprised to see him.

“I-“ Kageyama starts to say, but Iwaizumi only turns around and calls into the house, “Oi, Trashykawa. Kageyama’s here.”

“Why?” Oikawa’s voice floats back waspishly.

Iwaizumi jerks his head, indicating Kageyama should come in. He gives Kageyama a grumpy look, which does not help Kageyama’s nerves. 

Oikawa is sitting at the kitchen table. His face is back to its normal size, but his eye is a spectacular medley of deep purples, greens and yellows. His arm is in a below-elbow cast – an all-black one.

He scowls at Kageyama.

“What are you doing here?”

Kageyama flushes. It’s not the welcome he was expecting. Nor, if he’s honest, the one he wanted to hear. Somewhere deep down, he was hoping Oikawa would be happy to see him, would maybe even thank him. His mind flashes back to Oikawa asleep on the hospital bed, looking so soft and open. 

Oikawa is not looking like that now. Now he looks the way he usually does – like a snake coiled to strike. A particularly dangerous one, in fact – perhaps a black mamba?

Maybe Kageyama should have expected this. Almost certainly, Kageyama should have expected this. Not only is Oikawa injured, he is probably not very excited that his long-time rival saw him in such a weak and helpless state. If anything, his tongue is likely to be sharper than usual.

Well, Kageyama is no longer the little kid Oikawa (almost) always got the better of. He’s older now, and he can take Oikawa’s pissy mood. _He_ can be the mature, gracious adult in the room.

Kageyama is also the alpha here. This knowledge in particular stiffens his spine. He forces his face into blankness and says, with only a slight stutter, “I came to see how you were. And I – I brought something for you to do.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows lift, but he doesn’t smile or give any other encouragement.

It’s Iwaizumi who motions for Kageyama to sit.

He takes a seat then plows ahead, doing his best to adopt a serious, business-like tone. After all, anything related to volleyball, no matter how tangentially, is serious.

“These are my finger exercises,” he says, placing the instructions he had so painstakingly written out on the table.

“Why would I care about your stupid finger exercises?”

“No need to be an asshole, Nastykawa,” grumbles Iwaizumi, sounding thoroughly fed up.

Hmmm. Maybe Iwaizumi isn’t grumpy at Kageyama showing up out of the blue. Maybe he’s grumpy at being stuck with a peevish, angry, frustrated Oikawa. This thought, also, bolsters Kageyama’s courage, and he is able to respond calmly. “Because I assume you want your fingers to stay strong so they are ready to play once your arm heals.”

Oiakwa’s nose is in the air. But all he says is, “Fine. Tell me about these,” his hand flutters vaguely towards Kageyama, “exercise-thingies.”

There are ten exercises. Kageyama had it all planned out in his head, how he would explain the movements in detail while he slowly demonstrated each one.

Instead, in an attempt to keep all verbal exchanges with this short-tempered, petulant Oikawa to a minimum, he pushes the paper towards him. “I’ve written them down for you.”

Oikawa blinks at him, then slowly picks up the paper. He squints at it for a moment, then gives it back to Kageyama. His facial expression suggests that the paper has given him a headache.

“What terrible handwriting, Tobio-chan! I can’t read this gobbledygook.”

Kageyama flushes – he didn’t think his writing was _that_ bad - but then remembers that he’s taking the high road here. He bites his lip instead of spitting out an insult in return.

“Show the exercises to me,” commands Oikawa.

Following a deep, calming breath, Kageyama launches into his planned demonstration. Oikawa, of course, immediately picks up on how to do them, although only some of them can be done with his bad hand.

When Kageyama is done, he passes the paper back to Oikawa. “For you to keep. As a reference.”

“I don’t need a reference for anything so idiotically simplistic,” retorts Oikawa. Nonetheless, he carefully folds the page into a neat rectangle.

Kageyama stands. He has completed what he came here to do.

“Goodbye, Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san,” he says, bowing to each in turn.

“You’re leaving?” asks Oikawa. Does he sound… disappointed? Hurt? No, that’s not possible. He’s plainly annoyed with Kageyama’s presence; why would he want Kageyama to stay?

“Yes.”

“Wait. Tobio-chan.”

Kageyama turns back.

“Yes?”

“You had better come tomorrow. To make sure I’m doing them right.”

“Oh. Okay,” says Kageyama, too surprised to refuse.

Iwaizumi, also rising, says, “C’mon. I’ll walk you out.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says warningly. “No talking about me behind my back.”

“I just want to catch up with my old kohai,” Iwaizumi answers, with an uncharacteristically wide and patently false smile pasted on his face.

Oikawa’s eyes darken. What can he do, though? Hold Iwaizumi down? Forbid him to leave?

Once out of the house and Oikawa’s sight and earshot, Iwaizumi pulls Kageyama to the side. He doesn’t mince words. “If you hurt Tooru, I’ll break you in half.” His face is dead serious. Kageyama wonders if he knows how much he resembles a gangster in a movie.

Even though the words are ridiculously over the top, the sentiment is real, and Kageyama treats it with the respect it deserves. “I won’t hurt him,” he says.

“I mean it.”

“I know you do,” answers Kageyama.

“I don’t care if you’re an alpha, or a genius, or any of that crap.”

Kageyama is starting to get annoyed with this conversation, with this absurd beta making presumptions about his intentions, even if it _is_ Iwaizumi-san. Why should Kageyama have to defend himself anyway? This was only a casual, solicitous visit. But he forces himself to calm down and meet Iwaizumi’s gaze evenly. This is not the time to fight.

“I know you don’t,” he says, just the barest hint of frustrated impatience seeping through.

Iwaizumi’s eyes stay on his for another beat, then he nods, satisfied. Kageyama has evidently passed inspection.

They walk in silence for a bit.

“He won’t leave the house.”

“Hmm?” asks Kageyama. He had not expected further conversation and was not listening.

“He doesn’t go out at all. The doctors said this might be part of the response to the attack. It should get better over time, but for now he’s afraid to go beyond the porch.”

“Oh.”

“I think that’s why he’s being such a crabby pain in the ass.”

Kageyama smiles slightly at the implicit apology.

“Be careful with him, okay?” Iwaizumi says finally, heavily. 

“I will,” Kageyama promises. Of course he will. He’s not an idiot.

The next day, Oikawa performs the finger exercises for Kageyama, almost proudly. He’s clearly been practicing and doesn’t have to refer to the instructions at all.

In response to Kageyama’s praise, Oikawa scoffs, “These are the dumbest things in the world. A child could do them.” But his eyes are bright.

The whole thing has only taken a few minutes, and Kageyama can see Oikawa glancing nervously about. Once again, Kageyama has the oddest feeling that Oikawa wants him to stay.

Well, he’s not ready to leave quite yet. He pulls out the package he bought on the way home yesterday.

“What are those?” asks Oikawa with suspicion.

“Nail files. To keep your nails ready for volleyball.”

He can tell Oikawa is a bit taken aback by what he clearly sees as a very strange idea (is Kageyama the only one who takes care of his hands in this way?), but he thinks it over for a moment, then nods.

They tramp out onto the back porch, and Kageyama spends a good twenty minutes filing Oikawa’s nails. He’s become quite good at this from doing his own. He takes more care with Oikawa’s though, holding up each of Oikawa’s fingertips, one at a time, then carefully, smoothly, filing the nail down as far as he can comfortably go.

Kageyama is bent over, completely focused on the task. He ignores everything but Oikawa’s fingers, including the steady stream of chatter Oikawa aims at Iwaizumi.

When he’s finally done, he holds up the hand he’s been working on to show Oikawa. He’s pleased with his work. The nails are very short, but smooth, and should not get in the way of feeling the ball. He says as much to Oikawa.

A smile flickers briefly over Oikawa's face.

In this position, they are sitting close together. Very close together. If Kageyama leaned in, even a little bit, their faces would be… touching.

He colors and immediately falls back, placing Oikawa’s hand gently on the table.

He puts the nail files neatly back in the package and holds it out to Oikawa.

“To keep. For next time.” He can feel the blush worsen as he says it. 

“Oh, very well, Tobio-chan,” says Oikawa, taking hold of the package. “Feel free to use my house as a storage area for your personal grooming supplies.” But his cheeks are also tinted a faint pink.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time Kageyama shows up, Oikawa’s mother answers the door instead of Iwaizumi. Oikawa has inherited her pretty features, although they are even softer and more delicate on her face. He must get his height and his hair from his father, though, because she is quite short and her straight, dark hair falls like a curtain around her face.

“Oikawa-san,” he says, bowing.

“You must be Kageyama-kun,” she says, smiling cheerfully at him. “Come in, come in.” She seems to be much quieter than her son, though, as she silently deposits him with Oikawa in the kitchen, then makes her way out of the room.

“I have to pick up something for my mom at the corner market. Do you want to come with me?” Kageyama immediately asks. It’s the shortest walk he could think of a reasonable excuse to suggest; it will only take them about 20 minutes to get there and back. Kageyama has spoken as casually as he can, but Oikawa’s eyes widen like a deer in headlights, and he doesn’t answer right away.

Just as Kageyama is sliding into one of the chairs, thinking he’ll try again another day, Oikawa takes a deep breath and says, “Yes.”

Kageyama glances up at him. Oikawa looks like he does before a match, like he’s going to put everything he has into making it happen. But not exactly like a match. Because there’s an element of mindless fear in his expression, too. Kageyama has never seen that on Oikawa’s face, and most certainly never before a match.

“Great,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can. “Let’s go.”

Oikawa gets up suddenly and rummages around in a drawer. When he turns around, he’s wearing sunglasses.

He stands for a moment, fidgeting nervously, looking like he is regretting his impulsive acquiescence. Kageyama quickly hops up and heads for the front door. Best to get out before Oikawa loses his nerve.

“Mom,” Oikawa calls out as he follows. “I’m going out for a walk with Tobio-chan. I’ll be back soon.”

Kageyama hears it faintly – the sharp, indrawn breath – followed by a careful, somewhat wobbly, “Okay, dear. Have fun.”

Kageyama hastily gets to work putting on his shoes, and, after only a short moment, Oikawa follows suit.

Oikawa is obviously hesitant, though. He stands back, allowing Kageyama to exit first. Kageyama is dismayed to see the quick, frightened glance he takes all around before stepping out of the door. He stays for a moment on the doorstep, breathing deeply in and out.

Kagayama bends down and pretends to retie his shoelaces in order to give Oikawa more time to adjust. 

While part of him swells with alpha pride at having gotten this skittish omega, who has somehow become important to him in a way he does not fully understand, out the door, the bigger part of his mind doesn’t like this in the least. The indomitable, ruthless Oikawa – frightened of _walking outside?_ Anger rises in him all over again. Those fucking alphas!

When he sees Oikawa look at him with a worried expression – there’s no way he’s not picking up on the tide of rage flowing through Kageyama – he does his best to quell the anger. He forces himself to focus, instead, on the fact that Oikawa _is_ outside, that it’s a beautiful day, and, after a morning of playing volleyball with Hinata and Tsukishima, (along with the unexpected and very welcome presence of Nishinoya), a walk is indeed a pleasant thing. He gets up, shakes his shoulders, and hops down the stairs.

Oikawa reflexively follows him, almost like a pet. When they turn onto the sidewalk, he is standing just a little too close to Kageyama. Kageyama doesn’t mind. He likes it, in fact. If only he could reach out and take Oikawa’s hand, or sling an arm over his shoulder. He doesn’t, of course. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch, though, this feeling that he needs to be touching Oikawa. It’s similar to what he felt in the hospital.

Oikawa is breathing perhaps a little harder than would be expected, and he is tense, but not overly so. Kageyama again makes himself relax. It’s just a brief walk.

They’re halfway to the store when something marvelous happens.

He catches, only very briefly, a lovely, tantalizing smell. Spicy and warm, with a hint of sweetness to it. He’s never smelled anything like it. His nose tips up, but all too soon it’s gone. What _was_ that wonderful scent? 

The walk itself is otherwise uneventful. When they arrive, the store is mostly empty, and Kageyama quickly buys the batteries that he doesn’t need.

On the way home, Kageyama is pleased to see that Oikawa is more relaxed, more loose and easy in his stride, even moving slightly farther away from Kageyama.

When they’re almost home, the marvelous thing happens once again. That same fantastic smell. Kageyama turns in towards Oikawa, and it’s a bit stronger there. Is it – could it possibly be – _Oikawa’s_ smell? He thinks it is.

This, also, becomes a regular thing, their walk. Over the next week, Kageyama stretches each one out, longer and longer, until they are walking all over town, their long strides covering considerable distances. Oikawa is no longer stuck to Kageyama like glue, but he never lets Kageyama get too far away from him.

And every once in a while, when Kageyama is lucky, like an unexpected treat, he gets a whiff of what he is now certain is Oikawa’s scent.

They don’t talk much. Oikawa still seems to have to spend a significant amount of energy just making it through the walk – emotionally, not physically

On Thursday, Kageyama can’t help blurting out, “Bokuto-san is transferring to Meiji University next semester.” It bursts out of him, too exciting to hold in.

It’s clearly a shock to Oikawa, too. “ _What?”_

“Yes.”

A beat of silence.

“That will certainly enhance their lineup.”

Kageyama nods. He’s a bit worried about it, actually. Bokuto and Kuroo on the same team! With Kenma, no less. A formidable set of players.

“They will be tough to beat,” Oikawa says thoughtfully. He rolls his neck, as though stretching before a match. His whole demeanor has changed, become more focused, almost wired.

“But without Akaashi-san…” Kageyama voices the one silver lining.

“Yes,” agrees Oikawa decisively. “It’s a mixed bag. Kenma’s an incredible strategist, though. And to have such a power tool in their arsenal...”

There is no difficulty filling the rest of the walk with conversation.

This marks a decisive turn in the relationship. The walks together become something else entirely – consumed with discussions of volleyball. Oikawa no longer seems overtly frightened – he is instead calculating, ruthless, cunning – the Oikawa Kageyama remembers.

They fall into an easy rhythm. Kageyama comes over a few afternoons a week, and they take a long, rambling walk. Oikawa will be allowed to run again, soon, and Kageyama is looking forward to this. He thinks he will enjoy running together even more.

Whenever it becomes necessary, Kageyama files down Oikawa's nails. He likes doing it. It soothes this need he has to touch Oikawa. And he can feel it calm Okawa down, too. 

Today is one of the nail filing days. Kageyama still doesn’t talk while he’s doing them, but it’s a comfortable silence. Later, on their walk, he will bring up the news that is burning inside him: the fall lineup has come out.

“My -“ Oikawa starts, then hesitates.

Kageyama puts down the hand he is working on and looks up.

There is a faint blush on Oikawa’s cheeks.

“My birthday is on Friday. A few of my friends are coming over for dinner. Do you want to come, too?” It’s asked diffidently, and Oikawa isn’t meeting his eyes.

It makes sense that the party will be a low key affair at Oikawa's house. As far as Kageyama knows, the only time Oikawa leaves the house is for his outings with Kageyama.

But his answer is immediate. Of course he wants to come. “Yes!” he says, too loudly.

Oikawa presses his lips together, as though suppressing a smile. “Dinner's at 7,” he says, and holds his hand out for Kageyama to resume filing.


	5. Chapter 5

Oikawa does, indeed, get his height and his hair from his father. The hair looks quite different coupled with such imposing features, though – like a craggy mountain topped with an incongruously large and fluffy wheat field.

Kageyama is sandwiched between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and the birthday dinner starts off quite nicely. Oikawa’s friends have an easy familiarity which is very pleasant to be around. They spend the time eating and bantering back and forth, light teasing interspersed with jokes and the relaxed catching up of old friends reunited for an evening. 

Until dessert, when Oikawa’s father, largely silent throughout the meal, takes it upon himself to fix Kageyama with his steely gaze. (This, too, Oikawa has inherited from him).

“I recognize you now,” he says, with a finger pointed at Kageyama. “Kageyama Tobio, huh? The one who beat Tooru in the spring national preliminaries.”

Oikawa stiffens at his side. Kageyama himself is surprised that Oikawa’s father would bring something like that up on such an occasion, and at such a sensitive time.

“It seems that Tooru continues to surround himself with volleyball players, which I find surprising, now that he won’t be playing anymore.”

Kageyama’s eyes widen. But Oikawa’s father does not seem to be joking. Kageyama looks wildly around the table. Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa all have their faces averted. Oikawa’s mother is anxiously biting her lip.

Oikawa himself is staring grimly at his plate.

Is no one going to challenge this outrageous statement?

Apparently, Oikawa is. “Dad, I told you - ” he starts to say.

“How can you possibly think that you can keep playing?” interrupts Oikawa’s father angrily. “Look what happened to you!”

“That had nothing to do with volleyball,” Oikawa says in a pinched voice.

“Enough!” shouts Oikawa’s father, with more than a hint of alpha growl in the words. “No more talk of that idiotic game!” His hand slams onto the table.

This is followed, naturally, by a stunned silence.

Oikawa does not seem inclined to protest further, and who could blame him?

But Oikawa’s father _must_ know this one, this most important thing about his own son. Hasn’t he seen Oikawa play? His tosses? His spikes? His serves? Doesn’t he know how hard Oikawa has worked to improve himself?

Kageyama has never been one to be cowed when he knows that he is right. And about this, he is absolutely certain.

“But Oikawa-san is a setter!” he blurts out. He says it as though stating that the sky is blue, or that the ocean is salty. An incontrovertible fact - something that can neither be denied nor contradicted.

The silence becomes, if possible, even worse. Thick and treacly, like sludge.

“Time to open your presents, Tooru!” Oikawa’s mother sings, jumping up. Her hands are trembling as she dumps several gifts in front of Oikawa.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything or move to take any of them. Kageyama can feel the tension rolling off his body in waves.

Kageyama unobtrusively moves his hand under the table until it is resting, very lightly, against Oikawa’s fist, which is pressed hard into his thigh. Oikawa immediately grips it so tightly that it hurts. Kageyama instinctively squeezes back, in part to prevent injury to his own precious fingers.

At the return pressure, something in Oikawa snaps, and his body relaxes. A moment later, he, too, is singing out, “Yes, of course. Let’s open the presents! My favorite part!” as though the atmosphere is carefree and idle, not strained to the breaking point.

Oikawa makes a big show of thanking each of his friends for their gifts. They are thoughtful things that are clearly meaningful to him: a book he’s been wanting to read, tickets to a UFO expo coming through town (luckily not for several months).

Kageyama finds himself tensing up. He didn’t know that the gift opening would be a public event! He realizes that his gifts are embarrassing. He had thought the time they’d spent together meant something, that he’d learned something about Oikawa. But he can see from the other presents that, although he knows that Oikawa is a setter, he knows very little else. He doesn’t know what books he reads, what music he listens to, what movies he likes, what he does for fun. When they walk, they don’t talk about anything except volleyball. 

He also realizes that he does not want Oikawa to insult him in front of this group of his closest friends and family. The humiliation would be too great. Kageyama is just thinking that he will excuse himself and slip away when Oikawa reaches for what he obviously knows are the two gifts that Kageyama brought. He turns and gives Kageyama the tiniest of winks, rooting Kageyama to the spot.

He braces himself for insult, but when Oikawa unwraps the milk bread, his eyes gleam, and all he says is, “Tobio-chan, how thoughtful. My favorite!” It’s the same light, airy tone he used to thank everyone else. Kageyama lets out a sigh of relief. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

He unwraps the next one, struggling a little with the mountain of tape holding it together. His brow furrows, and he holds it up for all to see, somewhat puzzled by the thick, weighted material and the dangling straps. 

Kageyama mumbles, “It’s for your arm. For when you start playing again. The doctor said you can’t have any trauma to the bone when the cast first comes off. It’s to protect it for receives. Until it’s strong again.” He’s blushing. It had seemed like such a good idea, when he had traveled to the specialty sports therapy shop, asked all the questions, picked out what he thought was the right size. But he sees now that it’s a stupid gift. Oikawa will probably get one from his doctor’s office, anyway, one that’s the right kind.

But when Oikawa looks up at him, his eyes are suspiciously bright. He says, “Thank you,” in a muted voice that Kageyama hasn’t heard all evening.

Oikawa’s father grumbles something about “A waste of money,” but under the table it’s Oikawa’s hand reaching out this time to give Kageyama another strong, too-tight squeeze.

Oikawa’s parents finally head up to bed, and the guys are going to watch a movie. Kageyama isn’t sure if he’s invited for this part, but when Oikawa asks, carelessly, “Are you staying, Tobio-chan?” Kageyama finds that he wants to, so he says that yes, he is. 

Somehow (perhaps having to do with Iwaizumi manhandling him into the room), he ends up sitting next to Oikawa on the couch.

Kageyama is very sleepy. He always wakes up early so he can take a long run before his class. The couch is comfortable, and he finds himself drifting off, only half-waking up every time there is a loud noise, or a groan from one of the watchers.

There’s that smell again, too, the faintest whiff of Oikawa. It’s a happy, contented scent. Smelling it satisfies something deep inside Kageyama, and he relaxes even further.

Sometime later, his eyes are closed, and he’s in a half-fugue state when something falls gently onto his head. A hand. The hand threads through his hair, petting from the top of his head to the back of his scalp, then repeating the motion. It’s a wonderfully soothing sensation.

He’s woken up later by a rumble of conversation. The movie must be over, but he doesn’t open his eyes. It’s too comfortable on this couch, the hand still slowly caressing his head.

“What about him?” a voice whispers.

“He’s asleep. He can rest a bit longer. Tired Tobio-chan. It must be past his bedtime.” The voice is teasing, as always, but gently so.

Kageyama dozes off again to the lovely feel of the hand in his hair.

He wakes up for real a bit later, Iwaizumi shaking his shoulder. “Time to go home, Kageyama-kun,” he says. Kageyama realizes that he is leaning into Oikawa’s chest. Oikawa himself is curled over the cushions, asleep, his arm half around Kageyama.

Kageyama lurches to his feet. He watches Iwaizumi lift Oikawa’s legs onto the couch and spread a blanket on top of him. Oikawa has the same look he had when he was asleep in the hospital: sweet and open.

Kageyama can’t help leaning over and touching his cheek again. It’s as soft as a flower petal, or the skin of a very ripe peach. He has to fight against the pull of it, has to force himself to move from Oikawa’s delicate, sleeping form. 

It feels almost like a physical ache, stepping away from Oikawa and out into the cool night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluffity fluff

Kageyama is off. He’s in the gym with Hinata and Tsukishima, and his serves are off, his receives are off, his _tosses_ are off. Way off. What’s frustrating is that he doesn’t know _why_ he’s off. All he knows is that his mind keeps jumping back to the sight of Oikawa on the couch, and the feel of Oikawa’s cheek under his finger.

“Ow,” says Hinata after the ball hits him in the shoulder. It was only thanks to his quick reflexes that it didn’t hit him in the face. He throws it back to Kageyama for another toss, his expression warning that it better be a good one this time. “What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing, idiot,” says Kageyama, taking out his annoyance at himself on the familiar red-haired target in front of him. “You’re just slow.”

“There is no universe in which Hinata could be considered slow,” says Tsukishima in a monotone. “You’re off your game, King.”

Kageyama merely growls at him.

“You can growl as much as you want,” responds Tsukishima calmly, “You’re still playing the worst I’ve ever seen you play, which is saying a lot. What’s wrong? Are you doing poorly in your class?”

Kageyama only grunts noncommittally and sends the ball over the net.

Tsukishima sends it back. But he hasn’t given up investigating Kageyama’s bad mood. When has Tsukishima ever given up when it comes to needling Kageyama?

“No, not school for once. Hmmm. Worried about volleyball?” Now he’s guessing in earnest.

Kageyama does his best to ignore him and focus on the toss. All he has to do is keep his cool, get his head back into volleyball, and Tsukishima will back off. Hopefully. The last thing he wants is for Tsukishima to poke his long nose into the nest tangling up Kageyama’s thoughts – a nest that unfortunately seems to involve Oikawa.

It’s a reasonably good toss, and Hinata slams the ball into the opposite corner. Not bad.

“No, I don’t think it _is_ volleyball,” says Tsukishima thoughtfully.

But Hinata still gives Kageyama an annoyed look. “I had to turn for that one.”

Tsukishima’s voice rolls over the net. “One might almost think you’re in love.” Kageyama knows that he’s still guessing, that he’s throwing out random possibilities in the hopes of hitting the mark. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop Kageyama’s cheeks from flaming a brilliant red. He curses to himself. _What the fuck?_ He’s not even _in_ love! Why the hell is he blushing?

Tsukishima, of course, immediately hones in on it. “You _are_!” he cries out, so surprised that he catches the ball instead of tossing it back.

Kageyama desperately tries to stop the heat from spreading further across his face, but the damage is already done. Damn Tsukishima!

“Holy cow! He _is_ in love!” cries Hinata, bouncing up and down. “The king of the court is in love!” He immediately starts chanting, “Kageyama and someone sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Shut up, you moron!” yells Kageyama. Again, it’s only Hinata’s almost superhuman reflexes that stop him from getting a ball smashed into his face.

Tsukishima’s eyes narrow ,and Kageyama’s heart sinks. For Tsukishima, the real hunt has clearly only just begun.

“Who could it be?” he asks, almost playfully, as he stares at Kageyama’s angry red face. “Someone local. Yes. In fact, I bet you’ve been seeing a lot of this person over summer break. Which, now that I think about it, explains your mysterious unavailability every afternoon. So who’s the lucky lady? It must be someone related in some way to volleyball. Kiyoko-san?”

Kageyama can’t keep the look of astonishment off his face. _Shimizu Kiyoko_? Their old manager? It’s quickly followed by an internal sigh of relief. 

But Tsukishima, unfortunately, is watching him like a hawk and reading him like a book. He continues his unfortunate monologue.

“I'm off base with that guess, I see. Way off base. I must have the wrong gender. But on the right track about being in love. I must confess, I didn’t think I’d ever see the day when you’d lose your heart to anything other than volleyball.”

“I haven’t – I didn’t – I don’t-“ Kageyama stutters, although he knows he’s only making things worse. Tsukishima has always been inconveniently sharp.

“There, there, Kageyama. It’s okay. You’re not betraying volleyball. She knows she’ll always be number one in your life. Just give her a little time to adjust, and she’ll let you squeeze that special person in, too. Especially if you both play.”

At this, Kageyama’s face grows even hotter. Why does Tsukishima have to be such a smartass?

“It’s your turn to serve,” he grunts, hurling the ball at Tsukishima

“But who, then, I wonder?” Tsukishima muses out loud, obviously pleased to have gotten Kageyama so riled up.

“Yeah, who is it, Kageyama-kun?” Hinata calls out, bouncing with excitement.

“It _must_ be another volleyball player.” This is said with conviction. “You couldn’t possibly meet anyone else.”

“Serve, dammit!” yells Kageyama. “And shut up!”

Tsukishima, of course, does not shut up. Rather, he digs in, like a terrier with a bone.

“A local player, too. I bet it’s someone we know. Not anyone from Karasuno. But - maybe from one of the other high schools. One of the guys we used to play against.”

Kageyama does his best to feign nonchalance, but an icy finger runs down his back. He does not like where this train of thought is heading.

“I bet it’s also someone we would never expect. Someone… unusual. Probably a really good player. I don’t think you’d settle for anything less. Is it Ushijima-san?”

Kageyama can’t help but respond to this. _Ushijima._ “What? No! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He scowls angrily at Tsukishima.

“Why not? If anyone was in an alpha-alpha pair, it would be you.”

“If you don’t shut up and start serving, I’m going to leave!”

Tsukishima, realizing he’s stretching Kageyama’s patience a bit thin, and genuinely wanting to continue the practice, throws the ball up to serve. This summer has been great for him, to be able to play so much with Kageyama and Hinata. It’s really improved his own game. He doesn’t want to jeopardize that, no matter how much fun it is to taunt Kageyama.

Kageyama fumbles the receive, however, which prompts Tsukishima to start back in.

“Goshiki?” he asks. “He’s quite pretty, isn’t he? And a real firecracker. He could keep even you in line.”

“Yeah!” Hinata practically yells. “Goshiki is adorable. You would look so cute together, Kageyama!”

Kageyama’s scowl deepens further.

Tsukishimi frowns. “Not Goshiki, then. Ohira-san? He’d be a good counterpoint to your toxic personality.”

However, by now Kageyama has realized that refusing to participate is his best – in fact, his only - defense. He keeps his face as mask-like as possible as he throws the ball up in the air.

Hinata starts randomly naming former Shiratorizawa players. However, he can’t remember most of their names, so ends up saying things like, “Crazy middle blocker with the spaghetti arms!”

“Would you shut up and play!” Kageyama yells, although he can’t help feeling relieved that the focus is so entirely on Shiratorizawa.

“Or Semi-san. His hair is quite nice,” says Tsukishima. “Like Suga-san’s.”

“If you don’t get the ball in the air in the next three seconds, I’m leaving,” hisses Kageyama.

“I still think Goshiki is best,” says Hinata. “You two could get matching haircuts!”

Kageyama bares his teeth.

“Okay, not anyone from Shiratorizawa,” Tsukishima says at the same time he hastily tosses the ball.

“What about someone from Date Tech?” asks Hinata, now thoroughly in the swing of things. “Is it Aone-san?”

This is getting ridiculous. But thank goodness they haven't mentioned Aoba Johsai.

“Noooo," says Tsukishima slowly. "I don’t think it’s anyone from Date Tech. But what about Aoba Johsai?”

At this, Kageyama gives a sudden, violent start, which he vainly tries to cover up by throwing the ball wildly in Hinata’s direction. It misses by a mile.

“Kageyama-kun,” says Hinata sadly. “I don’t think you’re the king of the court anymore.”

“That’s it!” Tsukishima snaps his fingers. “The Great King! You’re in love with Oikawa-san!”

“No, I’m not!” The denial is instant and furious. It’s said in such a way as to be obviously confirmatory for Tsukishima.

“He _is_ quite pretty, after all, and he has that very nice hair. Not to mention those long, beautiful legs…”

At this, Kageyama’s hackles raise, and a growl, for real this time, erupts from his throat.

Tsukishima’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wow! It really _is_ him. I should have known. You two have always had a special relationship.”

He bows to Kageyama.

“I do believe congratulations are in order. Hinata, can you believe it? Our very own Tobio, in line for a royal wedding! Will we commoners be invited to the ceremony, Oh King of the Great King?”

“I said shut up!” roars Kageyama, steam practically blowing out of his ears.

“Poor, sad Kageyama, worshiping unhappily at the feet of the Great King.” He frowns slightly. “Isn‘t he an alpha, though? Or maybe a beta. But… wouldn’t it be wild if he was actually an _omega?”_

_What the hell?_ Why is Tsukishima so freaking clever?

“Plus, I thought he was bonded to that other guy, the wing spiker with the pointy hair.”

“Iwaizumi-san?” Hinata provides helpfully, apparently no longer having difficulty with names.

“Yeah. That guy. The one who’s always all over Oikawa-san.”

Kageyama's scowl becomes downright feral.

“Oh ho, so is _that_ the problem? Our little King, caught in a love triangle?”

Kageyama throws the ball as hard as he can at Tsukishima and storms out of the gym.

He can’t concentrate any longer, anyway. He sits down in the locker room, glad for the solitude. The whole conversation is whirling like mad inside of him, churning up all manner of thoughts and feelings.

_Is_ he in love with Oikawa? He’s not sure. It’s clear to him that seeing Oikawa being attacked in that alley triggered some kind of primal alpha response towards an omega in trouble. Which certainly explains his at times almost overwhelming desire to scent mark Oikawa, to protect him. But is it more than that? Does he also _care_ about Oikawa?

He likes spending time with him. He thinks about him when they’re not together.

But Oikawa is such a prickly, unpleasant person.

Has he really been prickly and unpleasant, though? When they take their walks, Oikawa is focused on volleyball, and they talk about things that are of real interest to Kageyama. The time together is pleasant – fun, even.

And Oikawa _is_ very pretty. Maybe Kageyama would like to… touch more than Oikawa's fingers or his cheek. Maybe he would like to even… kiss him. His mind flickers involuntarily to the memory of Oikawa’s smile, his bare arms, his long elegant neck. A jolt of electricity runs down Kageyama's spine.

Maybe Tsukishima _is_ right, after all.

“Of course I’m right.”

Kageyama’s head snaps up. Shit. He must have said that bit out loud. He hopes that it wasn’t more than the last sentence.

“You know, idiot, if you really like him, you should tell him. With words. Clearly, so he understands. He could do worse than you. In fact, now that I think about it, he, also, is insufferable.” Kageyama can’t help the growl leaping back into his throat at this insult to Oikawa. “You two are remarkably alike in some ways. It might even work out.”

For once, Tsukishima doesn’t seem to be teasing.“Yes,” he continues. Decisively. For Tsukishima, at least, the matter is settled. “You belong together. And you need to tell him. Right away.”

Hinata, who must have been hovering in the background, jumps out.

“Yeah! Tell him, Kageyama! I want to be a bridesmaid at the wedding! Will it be a volleyball wedding? Maybe a game between the two sides? If so, I’m on your team, Kageyama-kun! We can take on Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san, no problem. Although, I suppose if you’re getting married, you two will want to be on the same team? But, maybe one last time for us together?” he adds hopefully. “After all, both of you are setters.”

“Would you shut up already?” says Kageyama, but there is no longer any bite in the words. He feels strangely light-hearted. As they walk out together, now silent, Kageyama lets the thoughts and feelings fizz around inside him.

Once thev've been sorted out a bit more, he might even be able to tackle the next looming question: Does Oikawa care about _him_?


	7. Chapter 7

“Are you busy tomorrow?” asks Kageyama casually, as he lightly brushes the last of the nail dust off of Oikawa’s hands.

“Yes,” says Oikawa immediately. “I’m busy tomorrow.”

Kageyama can’t help his face falling at the words.

“I’m just kidding, Tobio-chan,” glowers Oikawa, with much more of his old bite than is usual these days. “Can’t you take a joke? What do you think, anyway? That tomorrow will be any less boring than today? That I’ll be able to _play_?”

Oikawa’s restless impatience has only grown exponentially over the past week. He’s itching to get on the court, to whip his body back into shape. He’s already let slip several times how worried he is about the ground he’s lost during this period of reduced activity. Even with running and occasionally trying (and failing) to toss with his left hand, he’s obviously not keeping up. Oikawa has been following the doctor’s orders, however – even _he_ knows that a poorly healed break could put him out of commission for an entire season.

“Can I ask you something?” Kageyama is using the question as a distraction, but it’s also something he’s been wanting to know.

“You just did.”

Kageyama scowls, looking down at his hands. It’s hard to _always_ be patient. 

Oikawa sighs. “Yes, you can ask me something.”

“How come you don’t smell?”

Oikawa looks at him sharply. “Some of us bathe regularly, Tobio-chan.”

Kageyama’s scowl deepens. “You know what I mean.”

There is a pause. Then, in an even tone, without any sarcasm, “It’s no big secret. I experimented with different blockers and found the ones that worked the best. I use a couple of them. They usually block everything.”

“Oh.”

Of course Oikawa can’t resist tacking on an insult at the end. “Especially for such a dull nose as yours, Tobio-chan.”

Even though he knows Oikawa is baiting him out of boredom and frustration, Kageyama can’t help flushing. Oikawa’s barbs always sting. Nonetheless, he mutters, “It’s too bad.” 

“What?”

“It’s too bad that you use the blockers. You have a – a really nice smell.” Kageyama wishes he had a more eloquent vocabulary at his disposal. Oikawa’s lovely, mysterious, frankly delightful scent is so much more than “really nice.”

Oikawa, however, seems to have understood well enough, because he doesn’t make any kind of snarky comment back; there is only a dull red creeping down his cheeks and across his neck. 

It seems as good a moment as any.

“Do you want to get lunch tomorrow?”

Oikawa looks up at him and frowns slightly. His response, however, is as airy as ever. “Sure, why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.”

While this isn’t necessarily what Kageyama wanted to hear, he supposes it’s better than nothing.

Lunch is something of disaster. Kageyama slept poorly, and he’s distracted and nervous. When should he say what he wants to say? He didn’t have the nerve on the way over, and now lunch is amost over. It will have to be after. What is he going to say, anyway? What's his goal? What does he really want here? He still doesn't exactly know, and the questions keep running through his head. He loses the thread of the conversation more than once. Even the subject of the national team tryouts is not enough to hold his steady attention.

Oikawa is not much better. He’s still restless and frustrated, constantly turning in his seat, letting out little verbal jabs whenever he can, coupled with that familiar, teasing smile.

It doesn’t seem like the most fertile ground for success. Kageyama, however, is going to stick to his plan. He’s leaving soon for training camp, and he refuses to end the summer in this current state of unsatisfying limbo.

After they’ve finished eating, and Kageyama has awkwardly insisted on paying, fumbling embarrassingly with his credit card, he knows the moment is upon him.

He is stupidly nervous. As they rise to leave, he says, “I have to use the restroom.”

Oikawa nods and props himself against the end of the bar to wait. 

Once inside, Kageyama splashes water on his face, as though he is gearing up for a hard match. _He can do this._

He’s humming on his way back, trying to organize the words he wants to say, at least in his head. He’s decided he’ll say them when they’re almost at Oikawa's house. It will be easier to do when they’re walking, and he doesn't have to look at Oikawa's face. Also, if he gets a bad response (the thought doesn't helps his nerves), he'll be able to leave quickly.

He’s so lost in nervous thinking that he’s almost at the bar before he sees that someone is standing next to Oikawa. An alpha.

The guy isn’t doing anything particularly threatening. He’s smiling in a pleasant manner as he casually puts an arm on the bar near Oikawa. He looks perfectly friendly. He might even be a nice person. Kageyama doesn’t give a flying fuck. His nostrils flare. He storms up to the guy and pushes him, hard, away from Oikawa.

The guys stumbles, then regains his footing.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?”

But one look at Kageyama and he’s backing away, hands held up in surrender.

Kageyama lifts a hand towards Oikawa’s shoulder, starts to say, “Are you all-“

“What the fuck _is_ your problem?” says Oikawa.

The hand recoils, as if burned. “H-h-he-“ Kageyama stutters.

“He what? Talked to me?”

Kageyama doesn’t understand. Rather than being grateful, Oikawa is _angry._ Kageyama blinks, trying to get his bearings.

“You were trying to protect me from the evils of _talking_? Well, don’t! I don’t need your fucking protection!”

This, of course, is a loaded statement. Oikawa doesn’t need to be protected against casual conversation. Then again, he _is_ an omega, and he will always be vulnerable to alphas. He definitely needed Kageyama’s protection in that alley, and he’s clung to Kageyama for most of the summer. Clearly, however, he doesn’t _want_ to need protection, which is another matter altogether. But even Kageyama can see that it is not the right time or place to go into an indepth discussion of the intricacies of alpha/omega dynamics. He understands that he has inadvertently stepped into a minefield, and if he’s not careful, something will blow up in his face. If it hasn’t already.

The bartender is giving them looks, but Oikawa isn’t done yet. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a _baby_ ,” he hisses.

“But he was – “

“What? Chatting me up? Maybe I _wanted_ him to chat me up!” Oikawa is so angry he’s practically choking on the words. A memory surges up in Kageyama, of that time in Kitagawa Daiichi. Of Oikawa, about to _hit_ Kageyama. He has the same look on his face now, one of absolute fury. This time, however, there’s no Iwaizumi to run interference, and the words keep tumbling out of Oikawa’s mouth, like a river of venom. “Maybe I was enjoying it. Maybe I’m in the mood for some _adult_ company. Maybe I’m sick of always hanging around with a stupid little kohai.”

Kageyama withdraws, stung. It hurts as much as if he had been hit. Worse, probably. He feels like he can’t catch his breath.

But he’s not that same vulnerable little middle schooler anymore, and there’s plenty of anger in him, too. All of a sudden, he’s sick and tired of Oikawa. Who cares if he’s an omega? He’s still an obnoxious, bratty asshole. Kageyama glares at him, the kind of glare that Hinata says scares people.

They’re now facing each other in wholly familiar opposition. If there was a volleyball between them, they’d both have their hands on it, trying with all their strength to wrench it out of each other's grasp. If there was a net between them, they’d be right back at the Karasuno-Aoba Johsai match. The one _Kageyama_ won.

There is a growl hovering in Kageyama's throat, and his shoulders have risen. Oikawa’s eyes are spitting fire.

For the moment, it’s a stalemate.

“Uh, excuse me,” says the bartender tentatively.

The spell is instantly broken. Kageyama spins on his heel, saying, over his shoulder. “Come on. We’re going home.” He doesn’t wait to see whether or not Oikawa will follow him.

The walk back is unpleasant. Kageyama walks as fast as he can, his anger continuing to grow with each step. He can hardly hear the sound of Oikawa’s footsteps keeping time with his own through the pounding in his ears. 

He can’t believe he was so stupid as to plan to – to confess his feelings to Oikawa, to ask him to be – to be _what?_ He still hasn’t sorted that out, not really. To be something, though, something – _someone_ – special to Kageyama.

He has a raging headache by the time they arrive at Oikawa’s house. It’s a relief when Oikawa walks past him to the door.

At the last minute, Oikawa turns back around to face Kageyama. In a kamikaze effort to stop Oikawa from launching yet another verbal attack, Kageyama blurts out, ““Goodbye Oikawa-san. I won’t be seeing you again this summer.” At the exact moment that he speaks, Oikawa’s mouth opens and his words – is Oikawa saying “I’m sorry?” - are completely swallowed up by Kageyama’s. What does it matter, anyway? It's too late for anything like that. Kageyama gives a stiff bow and adds, “Best wishes for your continued recovery.”

Oikawa’s mouth snaps shut, and a brief spasm of pain crosses his face, so quickly that Kageyama isn’t sure it was ever there. All that’s left is a blank, cold mask.

At the sight, Kageyama’s anger bubbles over once more. To think that he spent so much of his own summer trying to tend to this prickly cactus! What a waste of time and energy!

That terrible night when Oikawa was attacked, Kageyama had told himself he would see this through. Well, he’s done it. He’s seen it through. Oikawa is fine now. His cast will come off soon, and he'll be back to his old life. He doesn’t need Kageyama, and he certainly doesn’t want him.

It’s about time Kageyama got back to _his_ old life.


	8. Chapter 8

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but would you take a break, Tobio-kun?” asks Miya Atsumu. “You’re melting into a puddle.”

They are at training camp, and Kageyama is here to work hard, not slack off. He merely wipes the sweat away from his eyes and motions for the ball again. His serve isn’t enough. It needs to be stronger. Faster. More powerful. So powerful that no one can receive it. An image leaps into his mind, of Oikawa jumping high into the air, his body arched, slamming his hand into the ball. Kageyama’s serve can be better than Oikawa’s. It _will_ be better than Oikawa’s. He takes the ball, tosses it, runs a few steps, and jumps as high as he can. He puts everything he has into the serve, transmuting all his anger, frustration, and ambition into raw energy.

The ball rushes past the net. Miya is barely able to get his hands on it, and his receive bounces wildly out of bounds.

It was a good serve. But it could have been better. Kageyama grabs another ball, ready to try again. He’ll make it better. He has to. 

This is his life. Volleyball. He doesn’t need anything else.

He especially doesn’t need Oikawa. That attachment was based on unfortunate circumstances, nothing else. Yes, maybe Kageyama thought he wanted something else: closeness, touching, intimacy, whatever. In the future, when he might want those things more than he does now, enough to put some effort into chasing them, there will be other omegas. Omegas who are not covered in thorns. Omegas who do not prick your fingers when you hold out a hand to them. Omegas who are kind and sweet and delicious. He’s sure there are omegas like that in the world.

So what if they might not have feathery brown hair, and beautiful eyes, and golden skin for miles, and an impressive core of steel that has already carried them places they shouldn’t have been able to reach...?

Kageyama gives himself a hard shake, dispersing these useless thoughts. There is no room here for anything other than volleyball. He tosses the ball up for the next serve.

Unfortunately, Kageyama’s plan to wipe everything except volleyball out of his mind is foiled by _Iwaizumi,_ of all people. He doesn’t understand it. Iwaizumi must know something has changed. Kageyama can’t imagine that Oikawa hasn’t told him, or that Iwaizumi hasn’t figured it out on his own. After all, Kageyama went in the blink of an eye from almost daily visits to the Oikawa household to nothing.

Kageyama also vividly remembers Iwaizumi’s steely face saying, “If you hurt Tooru, I’ll break you in half.”

But there are no angry calls or texts. No hired thugs have shown up at the training camp to carry out the threat. Apparently, whatever Kageyama did hasn’t hurt Oikawa in the least. Kageyama should have expected that, given their history. Whenever he interacts with Oikawa, _Kageyama_ is the one who gets hurt.

So, instead of breaking Kageyama in two, Iwaizumi, for whatever reason, starts sending him innocuous, even inane, texts. Kageyama wonders how he got his phone number, but not enough to ask.

**Iwazumi-san** : Sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye before you left. hope training camp is good

\--------------

 **Iwaizumi-san** : saw this on the way home today. pretty cool, right?

Attached is a picture of a wrought iron fence twisted into an intricate, delicate shape. Kageyama frowns at the phone. _What the hell?_

\----------------

 **Iwaizumi-san** : do you watch this show? season finale last night. kind of sucked. 

This is sent with a link to a show Kageyama has never heard of.

It’s as though Iwaizumi has chosen Kageyama to be his personal private diary, a repository for thoughts that he is throwing randomly out into the world.

At first, Kageyama deletes the texts without answering. But they keep trickling in, and they’re so insidiously harmless that Kageyama starts responding – little meaningless answers. When he’s waiting for practice, or right before bed.

Initially, Kageyama is braced for Oikawa to make a showy entrance into the texts. When he doesn’t, Kageyama further relaxes his guard. It’s almost as though he and Iwaizumi have become friends, although they’re not, really. More like they’re both in the security line at the airport, making light conversation in order to while away the time. It’s not something Kageyama has done before, this kind of texting. He’s not one for idle conversation. But he finds that he looks forward to getting them. They’re light and easy, and remind him reassuringly of home. And so the brief, meaningless exchanges continue.

**Iwaizumi-san** : how’s the weather there? it’s hot here

**Me** : sweltering

\------------------

 **Iwaizumi:** did you get to the new ramen place near the station before you left?

**Me:** no

**Iwaizumi-san** : the food is really tasty. you should check it out next time you’re home.

And so on.

The texts have been so benign that it feels like an ambush when the picture arrives on the second-to-last day of training camp. At first, Kageyama can’t make out what it represents. Something long and thin. He eventually realizes it’s an arm, from the shoulder down. The skin closer to the wrist is pale and flaky-looking – almost scaly. 

Then another picture arrives, and another. It’s like watching a stop motion film in extremely slow motion. It’s a bit weird, to see only the disembodied arm, but interesting, too – almost like the skewed perspectives in the art-house films his mom likes to watch.

An image of the arm being washed in a sink, with lots of sudsy soap.

The arm being dried in a big, fluffy blue towel.

The now-dry arm, with a scattering of golden hairs sticking up all over the pasty skin.

Something being buckled onto the arm: a black brace. 

A last picture: two arms, lifted up, one wearing the brace, tossing a volleyball high into the air.

At the end, finally, a message comes through.

**Iwaizumi-san** : A perfect fit, and it works great.

Kageyama can’t stop his heart from leaping – Oikawa is playing again! Because, of course, it’s Oikawa’s arm, now out of the cast and wearing the brace that he, Kageyama, bought. However, this brief happiness is quickly submerged in a bitter, hopeless feeling of loss, followed instantly by anger at himself. Why does he even care?

Kageyama doesn’t respond to this text, and he quickly deletes the pictures.

His serves that day are even more relentlessly powerful.

Later, he wishes he had answered the text, because Iwaizumi doesn’t get the message that his silence was meant to convey.

**Iwaizumi-san** : I got to see the prelim schedule for fall. Looks like we’ll see you guys at some practice matches. you ready?

**Me:** I’m always ready.

He thinks it’s the perfect response until he gets Iwaizumi's reply.

**Iwaizumi-san** : so are we

It comes with an attachment. It’s Oikawa tossing again, but this time the picture is not just of his arm. He’s all golden in the lights of the gym and his face is furrowed in concentration.

He is as Kageyama has always seen him at his best on the court: fierce, proud and beautiful. At the sight, something hot and painful lances through Kageyama. His breath actually stops, and a wild, thrumming drumbeat pounds through him. _Mine_ , it says.

_Fuck_.

Almost in a panic, he hits the delete button. Which, unfortunately, doesn’t erase the image from his mind or the feelings associated with it.

This time he does send a text back. He doesn’t want any more of these stealth bombs launched at him.

**Me:** stop

Iwaizumi apparently knows exactly what Kageyama means, and therefore what he did, because, later that day, Kageyama gets a text back.

**Iwaizumi-san:** sorry

Iwaizumi also reverts to sending only frivolous texts, like before. He doesn’t send any more pictures of Oikawa. Kageyama is both relieved and, despite himself, disappointed. In equal measure.


	9. Chapter 9

“Kageyama-kun,” says Hinata with awe, and more than a hint of jealousy. “Your serve is even better than before.”

Kageyama is back home after the training camp. Despite the massive cleanout his mom is forcing on him (“It’s about time we got rid of all this junk,” she had said, shooting daggers at him over the mountain of volleyball paraphernalia she’d piled up for him to sort through), he’s been able to squeeze in a few informal practice sessions with Hinata and Tsukishima. 

“As good as the Great King’s,” says Tsukishima, with a pointed look at Kageyama.

Kageyama doesn’t fall for the bait, and he thinks he doesn’t even blush. The pointed look becomes searching.

“Trouble in paradise, eh?” Tsukishima says. Surprisingly, he doesn’t pursue this line of inquiry, merely crouches down in readiness to receive the killer serve. This kind of practice, receiving these serves, is like gold for him. He’s not going to waste any of the time with teasing today.

Later, though, in the locker room, Tsukkishima stands in front of Kageyama.

“What?” asks Kageyama.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tuskishima says with his typical flat affect.

Kageyama looks at him quizzically. He thought the practice went well today. He and Hinata were in sync, and Tsukishima’s altitude was excellent on his spikes. Kageyama doesn’t have any specific criticism to offer.

As usual, Tsukishima knows what he’s thinking.

“Not about volleyball, you dunderhead! About Oikawa-san.”

Kageyama can’t stop the blush this time. “No!” he yells. He refrains with effort from stiff-arming Tsukishima away. Of course he doesn’t freaking want to talk about it. There is no “it” anyway. He quickly stuffs his things in his gym bag.

Tsukkishima shrugs his shoulders. “Okay. But it’s a standing offer. I’m happy to talk, whenever you want."

Kageyama jogs out of the locker room, eager to get away. All he can think about is fleeing. He’s ready to flee Miyagi, too. Once he leaves this place, and all it’s stupid memories, things will be better. He’s sure of it.

It _is_ better to be back at school. Out of sight, out of mind – the old adage is true. He doesn’t think about Oikawa at all. Or, rarely. Or, not too much. Or, less than he did before. Even Iwaizumi's ongoing texts don't tip his mind in that direction. Much. 

He’s also pleased to find that his serve is objectively improved. At least he got something good out of the summer. He has decent control, and his teammates have a more difficult time receiving it during practices.

Kageyama genuinely likes his teammates. They aren’t as close as his Karasuno friends, but they’re solid guys, and he’s grown to trust them on the court. The gym is always the place he feels most comfortable at school - it's his sanctuary. That’s why it’s even more shocking when Yamazaki bursts into the locker room after practice one day with his news.

“Did you guys hear?” he says. He’s almost panting with excitement. “For our practice match coming up in a few weeks. The setter is an omega!”

“What? They have a new setter?” frowns Maeda, the team captain. “What happened to the other guy, the one who used to set for them? I thought he had at least another year or two.”

“That’s the thing! It’s the same guy. Turns out he’s an omega!” Yamazaki can barely contain his excitement.

“Wait a minute. The same guy? The guy with the, uh, hair?” Maeda holds his hands up over his head, miming a head of fluffy hair. “And all the fangirls?”

“Yeah! Exactly! That guy.”

Maeda is unconvinced. “Don’t you remember his serve? It’s powered by rocket fuel. There’s no way he’s an omega!” he scoffs.

“That’s what I thought, too,” says Yamazaki. “But he’s definitely an omega.”

“How can you possibly know that?” asks Maeda, still skeptical.

“Well,” says Yamazaki eagerly, launching into the story, “My buddy from high school is on the Tsukuba team. They played against them last week. And he said the guy has come out about being an omega. He reeks, and everything!”

“Your friend’s just messing with you, dude,” says Maeda. “If that setter was an omega, we would have known ages ago. Did Tsukuba lose the practice match?”

When Yamazaki nods, he adds with certainty, “Yeah. Your dude was just making excuses for being distracted and playing poorly. That guy’s not an omega.”

But Yamazaki refuses to yield, and even Maeda’s skepticism wavers in the face of his absolute certainty.

Tomaru pipes up, “You know, I can see it. That guy _is_ one hot piece of ass…”

Kageyama, who has been purposefully staying out of the conversation, does his best to still the growl in his throat. He forces himself to unclench his hands. This has nothing to do with him. It’s none of his business. All he has to do is keep his head down and get out of there.

Unfortunately, his teammates have other ideas.

“Oi! Kageyama.”

He grunts in response, doing his best to pretend that he hasn’t been paying attention to the words swirling around him, that anger isn’t coiling in his gut.

“Isn’t that guy from your prefecture?”

“What guy?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

“You moron. You always have your head in the clouds. The guy we’re talking about. The sexy omega setter. What’s his name, again?”

“Uh. O- Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru,” supplies Yamazaki.

Kageyama pretends to think for a moment. “Yeah, he came from my prefecture. He graduated before I did.” 

“Did you know he was an omega?”

Kageyama raises his eyebrows, as though in surprise.

“Wow. How the hell did he keep that kind of information under wraps? And why’s he revealing it now?”

Yamazaki shrugs.

“We’re gonna wipe the floor with them.” This from Hashimoto, an overenthusiastic first-year. “There’s no way an omega setter can beat our king, right?”

Kageyama keeps his voice even, if a bit stilted, as he answers. “If you think that, they will beat us. Oikawa-san is a super-aggressive player. His attack power is among the top of the league, and his serves are phenomenal. His fluid, intuitive style is an enormous asset to his team.”

“Maybe he’s fluid and intuitive off the court, too, eh?” Tomaru leers. “Should we invite their team out after the practice match?”

“A friendly, post-match drink? Great idea!”

“Yeah!”

Kageyama can feel the atmosphere change, his teammates’ interest sparked in a more focused, not to mention unsettling, way.

“No!” he says sharply, before he can stop himself.

“Oh-ho, you want him for yourself, do you, this sexpot setter?” Tomaru smirks suggestively at Kageyama. “I never knew you were interested in that sort of thing, Kageyama! Have you set your sights on this guy?”

“Shut up!” Kageyama growls, temper fraying. His voice only shakes slightly as he adds, “Oikawa-san is a petty human being with an awful personality. But he is an outstanding player, and we will have to work hard to beat his team. If we don’t, they’ll wipe the court with our asses.”

“Lighten up, Kageyama,” Tomaru again. “Not _everything_ is about volleyball.”

“For this idiot it is,” sighs Maeda, shaking his head, although his tone is proud. He’s _their_ idiot, after all. “Which we should all be grateful for,” he adds, with a warning look around him. Kageyama is the linchpin of their success, the glue holding their team together, and they all know it.

“Right enough,” agrees Tomaru fervently. “The day Kageyama bonds – no, the day Kageyama goes on a date – will be the day I eat my volleyball!”


	10. Chapter 10

After the conversation about Oikawa being an omega in the team locker room, something a little strange starts happening at practices. First-year Hashimoto, a decent enough spiker, starts hovering around Kageyama. He notices it first as a physical presence. It’s an almost unconscious realization, the same way his computer brain takes in everything on the court, analyzes it, and then uses the information to optimize the next toss. But there are no tosses here, no spikes, no plays to prepare – only the somewhat puzzling nearness of Hashimoto.

Hashimoto does other things as well. 

“Thanks,” Kageyama says in surprise, as he takes the proffered water bottle from Hashimoto’s hand.

“Sure,” says Kageyama, as Hashimoto offers him a meat bun on the way out of practice.

“I guess so,” says Kageyama, when Hashimoto asks if they can walk to practice together the next day.

One day after practice, Hashimoto says,“You coming with us for drinks tonight?”

Kageyama finds himself actually wishing he could. But, “No,” he answers regretfully. He’s almost failing his literature class, and if he doesn’t do better on the next essay, he could jeopardize his place on the team. Academic probation is no joke for college athletes. Kageyama knows of at least one who was sidelined for almost an entire season due to a poor academic performance. He has an unpleasant night ahead of him, wrestling with the essay.

Hashimoto slings his arm over Kageyama’s shoulder. “Another time?” he asks, unperturbed.

Kageyama almost jolts with surprise at his touch. Although volleyball is a very physical game, he generally doesn’t have physical contact with other players outside of practice, and never so intimately. He’s glad they’re both dressed; otherwise, what would he possibly make of such an action on Hashimoto’s part?

He is further surprised that he doesn’t mind the contact. For some unknown reason, his mind jumps to Oikawa. Maybe it’s because Hashimoto’s hair is a similar shade of brown, although not nearly as fluffy. His face isn’t like Oikawa’s, though. It’s all round sweetness. When Kageyama reaches up to ruffle that hair, Hashimoto smiles at him in a way that Oikawa never would – happy and eager. The smile loosens something in Kageyama’s chest. He cocks his head, almost speculatively. Hashimoto is a beta, not an omega, but does that matter?

Would he? Could he? Hashimoto is quite adorable, really, with his happy smile. Almost like Hinata, with that kind of fluffy energy, but less complicated even than Hinata. Just – happy. He’s good to be around.

He finds his lips tipping up ever so slightly at the corners, and Hashimoto’s smile broadens.

It’s… pleasant.

Later on, wrestling with the evil essay, his mind wanders to thoughts of Hashimoto’s sweet, soft smile, and his equally soft hair.

The day of the practice match arrives, and Kageyama does his best to channel his unusual nervousness ( _why the hell is he so worked up_?) into a quest for victory.

He’s nearly at the gym when a voice calls out.

“Oi! Kageyama.” It’s Iwaizumi, wearing that fierce smile which is really a glare. “Ready for defeat?” He punctuates this with an affectionate punch to Kageyama’s arm and walks briskly past, not waiting for a response.

Oikawa is right behind him. Kageyama thought he was prepared, but finds he isn’t, because Oikawa’s smell hits him hard. It’s much more prominent than it was over the summer. Kageyama wonders if he is even using the blockers anymore.

He immediately stops breathing through his nose. Even so, he’s thrown off enough that he blurts out, “Your father is allowing you to play?”

He kicks himself internally. What a stupid thing to say! He already knew Oikawa was playing. Why would he bring up that thing?

Oikawa colors slightly. His voice is gruff when he answers, “He didn’t have much of a choice.”

“And your arm is healed.”

“Yes,” says Oikawa, in a friendlier tone. He rolls up his jacket sleeve and holds up the arm with poorly-concealed pride. He has a right to be proud. It looks the same as before the break, the musculature having filled out considerably since it came out of the cast. 

“Congratulations,” says Kageyama.

“Thank you,” says Oikawa. He hesitates and looks away. “Tobio-chan – ”

At that moment, Hashimoto runs up. Sweet, eager, tactile Hashimoto, who is always touching Kageyama these days.

“Hey, Kageyama-san,” he says. He must be able to smell Oikawa, but he barely even looks at him. He has attention only for Kageyama.

“Oikawa-san, this is Hashimoto-san,” Kageyama says stiffly.

Hashimoto cocks his head, nods a brief hello.

“Sorry,” he says, although he doesn’t sound sorry. “Was I interrupting something?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. “C’mon.” He is half-pulling, half-pushing Kageyama forward. “You’re going to be late for the warmup.”

“Good luck in the match,” Kageyama says to Oikawa as he is dragged away. Oikawa’s expression is unreadable.

All in all, the practice match goes well. Kageyama was afraid that he would be distracted, but he’s not. Once he’s on the court, he doesn’t even notice the smell. Kageyama’s team wins, but Oikawa only plays in two of the sets. When he is on the court, it’s a different game altogether – sharper, fiercer, more dangerous. He is back to his old form, and his serve is as frightening as ever. Kageyama is glad for him, but distantly so. He is much more focused on doing everything he can to make sure his team wins, to get the next point, to optimize his own serve. 

His teammates are less immune to Oikawa’s charms. By the end of the match, Kageyama is certain that at least half of them fancy themselves in love with Oikawa. Arrangements are hastily made between team captains to meet up at one of the college bars nearby.

Kageyama waits in the bar with the rest of the team. Why did he even come? It was dumb. Off the court, Kageyama seems to be full of stupidity today.

Hashimoto is to his left, trying to make conversation, but Kageyama can’t keep up his end. He’s too distracted.

It’s a relief when the other team blows in on a fresh breath of air. It’s all hellos and laughing jocularity, and bright eyes peering in, looking for Oikawa, guessing where he’ll go, trying to get near him. Everyone except Kageyama, who sits tight on his bar stool, and Hashimoto, perched at his side. 

All of a sudden, Kageyama is disgusted with himself. Is he exactly like these other horny bastards, trying to get a piece of Oikawa? _Shit._

He’s about to leave when there is a shuffling sound near him, and a smooth voice says, in his ear, “Not drinking milk tonight, Tobio-chan?

Kageyama stiffens and slowly turns, his back to Hashimoto.

Oikawa is next to him, tucked into the corner, his face in shadow. Iwaizumi is in front of them, facing away, his bulk blocking anyone else from coming up to Oikawa.

Kageyama immediately finds it difficult to breathe.

“Oikawa-san,” he manages to choke out. “You played well. Your arm seems to be functional.”

Oikawa shrugs. “Yeah. I’m not allowed to play a full match yet, but soon.” There is a pause, and then he says, “Tobio-chan – “

Kageyama waits, but nothing else comes.

“Yes?” he prompts.

“I wanted to – to – “

Kageyama doesn’t think he’s ever seen Oikawa so at a loss for words. It makes Kageyama nervous. His heart is unaccountably hammering in his chest.

“Yes?”

He’s expecting some airy statement about Oikawa’s superiority, or a bold prediction regarding Oikawa’s victory when they next meet. Instead, Oikawa’s voice is quiet, and he is looking down at the bar when he speaks.

“I – I’m sorry. For what I said. At the… lunch. Over the summer. I was very frustrated that day. That’s not an excuse, merely an explanation. I should not have said it. It was a poor way to repay your kindness to – ”

Oikawa isn’t done, but Kageyama doesn’t want to hear any more. About how Oikawa appreciates all Kageyama has done _blah blah thank you and maybe we can be cordial with each other or even perhaps somewhat friendly in passing._

“It’s fine,” he interrupts coldly. “You told me how you felt, and the message was received.”

“That’s not – “ Oikawa starts.

“No further explanations are needed,” interrupts Kageyama.

“I wanted to tell y– “

“It’s _fine_ ,” repeats Kageyama, anger creeping into his voice. He glares at Oikawa. Why does Oikawa always have to be such a pain in the ass? Can’t he see that Kageyama doesn’t want to hear it?

“It’s nice to be able to get a word in edgewise,” says Oikawa sharply. He adds, spitefully, “And such a face you’re making, Tobio-chan! Be careful, or you might turn someone to stone. Yourself, if you look in a mirror.”

He picks up his drink and angrily pushes past Iwaizumi. He stalks over to the rest of his teammates, who fold him protectively into the group. They are several layers deep, effectively shielding him from the eager, grasping attention of Kageyama’s team.

Kageyama slides off the bar stool. He feels more than sees Hashimoto start after him, but he walks swiftly out of the bar. He knew it was a bad idea to come.


	11. Chapter 11

After that day, Kageyama is a little more wary about accepting Hashimoto’s tentative advances. While Hashimoto’s sweet, open smile is no less appealing, Kageyama doesn’t really know what might be hidden underneath. And the last thing he needs is to stick his hand into another hornet’s nest, especially when he’s still got one particular wasp buzzing annoyingly in his head.

Plus, he has other, even less pleasant, things to occupy his mind right now.

He fails his literature essay.

It’s awful, looking at the paper. A thick, blocky, red _F_ , inked onto the first page. The essay is so marked up with comments and corrections, it looks like it’s been bludgeoned to death.

A post-it is stuck to the front. “I have referred you to the tutoring center - urgently.”

He’s given an appointment right away.

The tutor, however, is no help. The guy talks on and on, and absolutely nothing he says makes any sense. Except the biting comments about Kageyama’s poor writing structure, mechanics, and fluency, which ends up morphing into a rant about the substandard teaching in high schools these days.

It’s a dreadful experience. 

He asks at the tutoring center if they have any other tutors available, but he’s told that, unfortunately, everyone else is booked up for the next few weeks. Apparently, even that guy was only free due to a last-minute cancellation.

Kageyama unhappily puts himself on a waiting list, but he’s only got one week to resubmit the paper, and he’s got to do _something_ now. If he can’t bring that grade up, he’s almost certain to go on academic probation. He could get immediately suspended from the team. He would not be able to attend any further matches, or even any practices!

He looks again at the paper and wants to tear his hair out. All his painstaking effort, for naught. The situation is so unlike volleyball, where his efforts invariably produce results. He already did the best he could with the essay, and has no idea how to improve it. 

He feels as though he is trapped in a very small box, and the walls are closing in on him.

In desperation, he tries contacting Yachi, who had been so helpful to him in the past. But it turns out that not only is she studying abroad this semester, she is busy hiking (hiking!) in the Pyrenees, and is unreachable.

Trying to stay calm, he mentally goes through the list of people he might be able to turn to for help.

Sugawara? However, Daichi picks up the phone, telling him that Suga-san has the flu. Daichi sounds pretty frazzled, and Kageyama doesn't want to burden him with his own pathetic woes.

Hinata? Only if Kageyama wants to fail twice as quickly.

Tsukishima? Tsukishima would be even worse than the tutor, he knows that.

The walls of the box are pressing in so tightly now that he is having trouble breathing.

With the phone in hand, he scrolls absently through his texts. There are quite a few from Iwaizumi. Without thinking about it, almost mechanically, he types in a text to Iwaizumi.

**Me:** how can I improve my lit paper?

He is surprised to get a reply almost immediately.

**Iwaizumi-san** : what’s the problem?

It’s such a straightforward, even-keeled response, and Kageyama is so desperate, that he texts a picture of the front page of the essay, where the professor wrote, in his horrible chicken scrawl, “Wholly lacking in organization, fluency, or original thought.”

Even sharing the magnitude of the problem is something of a relief.

Once again, the reply is immediate.

**Iwaizumi-san** : I see. I may be able to help, at least a little. I sent you a link for an online meeting.

Kgaeyama perks up at this. Can Iwaizumi actually help him? Maybe the situation isn’t completely hopeless?

He sits down at his computer and logs onto the virtual meeting. While he is still a bundle of nerves, he also feels a slight flicker of optimism at the possibility of assistance from an unexpected quarter.

“Hey, Kageyama-kun. Nice to see you!”

“Thank you, Iwaizumi-san. Can you really help me?”

“I hope so. Can you hold on a minute? I’ll be right back. I just have to grab something.”

Kageyama nods. While he’s waiting for Iwaizumi to come back on, he looks down forlornly at the paper. He quickly looks away. Seeing the red scratch marks in all their vivid glory only serves to tighten the walls of the box.

He literally jumps at the sound of a voice whining, “What was so urgent, Iwa-chan, that it couldn’t wait 5 minutes? I was _busy_.”

Iwaizumi is barely back in the frame and Kageyama watches in horror as a headless torso walks across the screen towards him. Even though he can’t see the face, he knows who it is, both by the voice and also, he is unhappy to realize, by the silhouette, which, apparently, he has memorized. 

He feels ridiculously betrayed.

“Wait!” cries Iwaizumi sharply, at the sight of Kageyama’s face. “Don’t leave. Tooru is really good at this stuff. I honestly think he can help you.”

“What did you do, Iwa-chan?” asks Oikawa ominously, bending at the waist to look on the screen. His face barely flashes into view as Kageyama clicks out of the virtual room. 

Goddammit! He didn’t expect such a sneaky, low blow from Iwaizumi!

And will Iwaizumi also show Oikawa the text? The one with the picture of the professor’s comments? He grabs his phone and hastily deletes his own text, as if that will somehow magically delete it from Iwaizumi’s phone as well. Stupid Iwaizumi! He is giving Oikawa an entire round of artillery with which to shoot Kageyama down – a lifetime’s supply, perhaps.

The phone beeps as he’s holding it, announcing the arrival of a new text.

**Iwaizumi-san** : i’m serious. Tooru is actually a good teacher. can’t you give it a try?

Another one quickly follows.

**Iwaizumi-san** : come on, Kageyama, I’ve never known you to be a chicken.

And another.

**Iwaizumi-san** : will they let you keep playing if you don’t pull that grade up?

_Shit!_ The box is now pressing heavily down on Kageyama’s head, squeezing it.

**Iwaizumi-san** : the virtual room is still open. please come back online!

Kageyama reluctantly clicks back into the room.

As he’s coming in, he hears Iwaizumi saying, in a threatening manner, “Sit down and shut up, Shittykawa.” He turns to Kageyama as a surprisingly obedient Oikawa settles into a chair next to him. “As I said before, Oikawa is really good at this stuff.”

“I don’t want his help!” Kageyama answers sullenly.

“That’s perfectly fine with me,” says Oikawa. “I have many other things I could be doing right now. Iwa-chan, you heard him. He doesn’t want my help.”

Iwaizumi ignores him.

“Why not, Kageyama?” he asks, an edge of impatience in his voice. Iwaizumi also probably has many other things he could be doing right now.

“Can’t _you_ help me, Iwaizumi-san?” Kageyama asks, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Iwaizumi sounds genuinely apologetic as he says, “Sorry, man. Literature’s not my thing. I barely scrape by myself. What about finding a tutor over there?”

Kageyama shakes his head, his face reddening, but he doesn’t offer any further explanation. No way is he going to describe his experience with the tutor in front of Oikawa.

“If you really need help, Oikawa’s your best bet. He does a good job, when he’s not being a complete asshole.”

“I’m sitting right here, Iwa-chan. You’re insulting me to my face.”

“Because you’re an ass.”

“I am not. I offered to help, out of the goodness of my heart.” This is such a blatant lie, Kageyama can’t help snorting. _Iwaizumi_ offered Oikawa’s help. If there was goodness in anyone’s heart, it was Iwaizumi’s. At the sound, Oikawa glares at Kageyama and says, “If this idiotic kohai refuses, that’s his loss.”

It’s like the summer never happened, like Kageyama is back in middle school, and Oikawa is mocking him, making his life miserable. 

But, once again, Kageyama reminds himself that he is no longer a defenseless middle schooler. He has choices here.

He bites his lip. On the one hand, he can try to muddle through the rewrite on his own, likely failing again, going onto academic probation, being suspended from the team, losing his scholarship! On the other, he could get assistance, although it would be delivered with Oikawa’s stinging tongue.

The choice is obvious: of course he should accept the help. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, though.

Iwaizumi can plainly see Kageyama’s reluctance.

“You know what, Kageyama? I’ll sit right here and keep Crappykawa in line, okay?” he says, both patiently and reassuringly.

Oikawa splutters. They both ignore him.

“Okay,” Kageyama mumbles, resigning himself to his fate.


	12. Chapter 12

Once Kageyama has agreed, Oikawa, surprisingly, does not put up any further fuss.

Iwaizumi turns to the side to do his own work, and Oikawa takes over the screen.

“When is the resubmission due?” he asks in a no-nonsense manner.

“In a week.”

“Hmmm. That’s cutting it close. I’m still willing to do it, but only if you agree to send updated drafts to me every day, and meet every evening for an hour, should we say at 9? Otherwise, it won’t be possible to complete. Do you agree to those terms?”

Kageyama is a little surprised at how seriously Oikawa is taking this, but he doesn’t mind. On the contrary, he finds it reassuring. It's almost as though Oikawa has moved rapidly into game mode and is focused on the goal of winning, that is, Kageyama getting a passing grade.

“Yes.”

“Very well,” says Oikawa. The agreement made, his tone sharpens even further. “Send the whole thing over to me right now, and then you’ll have to give me a few minutes while I do an initial skim-through. I can read it more thoroughly later. Luckily, we did this novel in one of my classes last year, so I’m familiar with it.”

.

It’s difficult to sit still while Oikawa wades through the annotated mess. But, again, to Kageyama’s surprise, Oikawa acts in a manner which can only be described as professional. There are no comments, either overt or veiled, about how stupid Kageyama is. 

“I can see what your professor is saying. But, actually, I disagree with him. There _are_ some interesting thoughts in there. They’re just a bit hard to find.” Oikawa stops and thinks for a minute. “Okay. I think the first thing to do is to try to get a better handle on what your overarching idea is, your thesis, what you’re trying to prove. One of the major problems that I see is that you do something of an about-face in the middle of the essay.

“That often happens, you know. Probably always, in fact. The process of writing is itself a process of thinking, and it forces you to clarify and deepen your own understanding. The important thing is then to go back and revisit your framework and see if and how it needs to be modified. 

“Which leads to the other major critique I have of your paper: that your textual evidence – that is, the quotes you chose from the novel – does not necessarily support your argument.”

Kageyama looks at him blankly. He has a hard enough time with this kind of stuff, and it’s doubly hard to take in anything substantive under these bizarre circumstances.

Oikawa can plainly see the confusion on his face.

“Think of it like this. You start a match against Shiratorizawa, and you quickly learn that Ushijima is left-handed. It’s new information – you weren’t expecting it. What do you do? Keep playing the same way you would when you thought he was right-handed? No. You take the new information in and adjust your strategy. This is something that you, especially, Mr. Volleyball Genius,” he punctuates the words with an audible tap to his screen, right where Kageyama’s head is probably floating – “are constantly doing when you play. It’s the same idea here, just in relation to ideas rather than actions. And even though it’s more work to rethink things when you’re faced with new information, rather than continuing to plod along in the direction you were already heading, it’s also what makes the whole exercise interesting.”

Kageyama must still look blank because Oikawa says, “You’ll get a better understanding from actually doing it. Let’s start by you telling me, right now, in your own words, what your argument is, what you’re trying to prove here.”

Kgeyama haltingly tries to put his thoughts into words, all the while bracing himself for Oikawa’s ridicule.

But Oikawa only jots down some key phrases in the corner of the screen.

“Okay, great. You might end up needing to rework parts of it, but it’s an excellent place to start.”

Kageyama flushes at the compliment. He thinks Oikawa must be teasing him, but his voice is so calm and serious. He isn’t teasing, is he?

They start to move through the initial body paragraph, Oikawa maintaining his professional demeanor. The only time it lapses is when, about twenty minutes in, Iwaizumi’s phone rings.

There is a lull in their conversation right at that point, so Iwaizumi’s voice comes in loud and clear, even though his “Hello” is spoken in an uncharacteristically low voice. It even has a strange, almost tentative quality to it.

Oikawa is on it like a terrier on a bone.

He swings around and asks, in his most sultry, teasing voice, "Is that your pretty boyfriend, Iwa-chan?”

Kageyama is fascinated to see Iwaizumi blush a furious red. It’s so dark it’s almost purple, and suffuses not only his face, but his neck as well, disappearing into his shirt. He holds the phone to his chest and glares at Oikawa.

“ _Shut up_ , you… you…” pointing a trembling finger at Oikawa. But words fail him, and he stomps out of the room to finish the conversation in private, slamming the door behind him.

“Is he all right?” asks Kageyama.

“More than all right,” Oikawa answers provocatively, waggling his eyebrows.

Kageyama doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s never seen the view from this side of the fence before, the side that Oikawa is on, looking out over someone else. But it’s a short-lived experience. His prey gone, Oikawa slips immediately back into teaching mode; they move on as before.

Patiently, bit by bit, Oikawa pulls thoughts out of Kageyama’s head. He never forces his own ideas on Kageyama; instead, he asks him, over and over again, to clarify what he means, make it more precise, pin down exactly what he’s thinking.

It’s brutally hard work.

At the end of the hour, Kageyama is exhausted.

Oikawa, however, is not only energetic, he is also surprisingly encouraging.

“You did a good job today, Tobio-chan. For tomorrow, please rewrite this first body paragraph. Here’s the order of sentences I want you to use when you write it. You don’t always have to follow this format, but it’s a good one to use until you’re comfortable being a little freer with the structure.”

Oikawa types onto the screen as he describes the job each sentence is going to do. When he’s done, he says, “Can you take a screen shot of this?”

Kageyama complies. As Oikawa continues speaking, Kageyama recalls encountering this same format in several of his prior classes; but the way Oikawa is explaining it makes a lot more sense to him than it did previously. 

“Send your draft to me by 6 pm tomorrow, and I’ll have time to review it before we meet.” 

Kageyama nods his agreement.

And then it's like a switch has been turned off, and the temporary truce is over.

“Now, Tobio-chan,” says Oikawa in his usual teasing, irritated voice. “You’ve wasted all my free time tonight. I’m going to be a wreck tomorrow, and it’s all your fault.” He frowns.

Just like that, the wise mentor has turned back into a pumpkin – a rotten one, at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please correct me on any of the lit.essay stuff - that's not my thing! cheers and thanks for reading.


	13. Chapter 13

The subsequent evenings are much the same. They meticulously move through the essay, Oikawa helping Kageyama elaborate on each of his points and forcing him to reassess his ideas when needed.

Kageyama is feeling better and better about it. With the comfort of knowing he has a reliable guide, one that can lead him out of what had seemed like an impenetrable thicket, the fear lessens. And without the underlying terror, he can relax enough to be interested in the content. Also, somewhat surprisingly to himself, he’s spurred on by the challenge of trying to best express what he has to say. Although arduous, it’s almost fun to experiment with the interplay of language and ideas.

He says as much to Oikawa, who only grins at him, and replies, “The pain and pleasure of writing, Tobio-chan! Watch out, or you’ll get hooked!”

Kageyama’s not sure about that – writing is not volleyball. But this experience is definitely a cut above what it was like previously.

He also likes the time with Oikawa. It reminds him of the summer, even though the circumstances are vastly different. During one of their hours, when the discussion has become less a teaching session and more of a collegial debate of ideas, he realizes what he likes about it: that they’re allies in this endeavor.

He’s so startled by this thought that he jumps up in his seat and gives a small gasp.

Oikawa looks at him sharply.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. You just had an insight. I can see it on your face.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tobio-chan – share!” Oikawa commands.

Kageyama gives in. “I like being on the same team as you.”

He is immediately frustrated that the bland words do such a poor job of describing the subtle, delicate trust that has arisen between them for this small window of time each night.

Oikawa leans back, for once with nothing to say. A slight blush tints his cheeks. He mutters something under his breath. Was it, “I know what you mean”? Kageyama isn’t sure. It could just as well have been, “We’re not on the same team, idiot!” or even, “Over my dead body”.

“I told you it was nothing,” says Kageyama angrily, annoyed both by his own clumsy ineloquence and also by the feeling that he has needlessly exposed himself.

Oikawa clears his throat and says, “Of course we have the same goal here. You better pass this class. When we beat you guys next time, I want it to be fair and square, and not just because you were booted off the volleyball team.”

It’s their second to last meeting. They have about 15 minutes left and have wandered off into a discussion about the hero of the tale. Is he really a hero? Or is he a villain? Kageyama is no longer sure.

There is a loud knock on Kageyama’s door. Hashimoto barges in without waiting for a reply.

“Watcha doing, Kageyama-san?” he asks loudly. “Still working? Aren't you tired after that practice?”

He puts his hands on Kageyama’s shoulders and starts massaging them.

His fingers feel incredible, digging into the tight muscles. And there’s something about having Oikawa’s face in front of him and Hashimoto’s hands on him that creates an illusion that _Oikawa_ is the one massaging him. He almost unconsciously closes his eyes and relaxes into the touch. He takes a deep breath in and… _Shit!_ That’s not Oikawa’s smell, and it’s definitely not Oikawa touching him. it’s _Hashimoto_.

His eyes fly open.

Oikawa’s face on the screen is thunderous. 

“If you’re planning on lounging around getting massages, Tobio-chan, perhaps our work here is done!”

‘No- I’m not” He turns apologetically to Hashimoto. “Hashimoto-kun, I’m sorry. I have to finish this.”

“Oh,” says Hashimoto. "I'll leave." He looks hopefully at Kageyama, as though expecting him to say, _No. Don't go. I want you to stay._ But Kageyama doesn't, and Hashimoto walks out, looking for all the world like a puppy with its tail between its legs.

They finish up a few minutes later, the conversation stilted, all easy camaraderie gone.

The next evening, the last one – Kageyama can’t believe he’s almost slain this beast! – they are running through the entire essay, looking for overall coherence.

As Kageyama is reading, Oikawa asks archly, “No boyfriend tonight?”

“What?” Kageyama says slowly, his mind on the essay. It’s a challenge, making sure all the tangled strands weave together seamlessly.

“That spiker guy. The chirpy one.”

“Who?” asks Kageyama, confused.

“The blundering oaf who barged in on you last night.”

“Oh. You mean Hashimoto?” asks Kageyama, frowning. “He’s not – he’s not my – ” But a slow, incriminating flush steals over his face, because Hashimoto has most definitely been hitting on Kageyama. Moreover, Kageyama has most definitely offered him encouragement, albeit feebly. “I – I – he – “ he stutters. He can’t believe that he’s being called upon to process his feelings about Hashimoto right now, when he’s almost done with the fucking rewrite, and in the presence of Oikawa, of all people. 

“Don’t stop reading the essay, Tobio-chan! The sooner we finish, the sooner you can get back to your love nest!” Oikawa scolds, ignoring the fact that he’s the one who created the distraction in the first place.

“ _Love nest_?!” Kagyama cries out, appalled. Unfortunately, the blush burns even hotter at the words.

Oikawa gives an angry snort. “Don’t play the naive ingenue, Tobio-chan. You two were together at the bar, weren’t you?”

“No!” is Kageyama’s immediate retort, although he knows it carries little weight in the face of his madly blushing face

“And he had his hands all over you yesterday.”

“What the hell are you talking about? That wasn’t – he didn’t-” Kageyama’s voice is too loud, he’s being defensive, and even he knows he looks guilty as hell.

“I think we’re just about done with this little project, wouldn’t you agree, dearest Tobio-chan?”

“But I thought we were going to review the conclusion one more time?” says Kageyama, helplessly buffeted about by the rapid back and forth. He also doesn’t understand why he feels guilty. Even if he _were_ going out with Hashimoto, that’s none of Oikawa’s business, is it?

But Oikawa has turned into a pumpkin early tonight, and Kageyama can see that there will be no coaxing him back into his human form. 

Well, things are not ending on the best of notes, but Kageyama is still incredibly grateful to Oikawa for all he's done. _He's_ not going to be such an ass as to not say so.

“Thank you, Oikawa-san,” says Kageyama, "for all your help."

“It was no problem,” says Oikawa, carelessly dismissing all the hours of hard labor he put in “You can consider us even now.”

Ah. So that’s what this was about. Oikawa was _repaying_ Kageyama. For his _assistance_ over the summer. They’re not really on the same team after all. This was merely part of a transaction – the settling of a debt that Oikawa is happy to pay off.

Kageyama is surprised, once again, at how much Oikawa can hurt him with a few casual words. Nonetheless, he is able to say, because it’s true, “You are a very skilled teacher, Oikawa-san. This has been an enormous help to me.”

He signs out of the meeting while Oikawa is still looking at him, frozen in his seat.

He forces himself to complete and submit the essay before going to sleep.

He ends up with a solid B, and the professor leaves encouraging comments, both about his ideas and the quality of the writing. He also offers some criticisms that Kageyama now feels he understands better. “Excellent improvement” is written at the top, near the grade. 

In addition, the tutoring center calls him with the news that another tutor has an opening, starting next week.

Once again, Oikawa is out of Kageyama's life, and it’s as though he was never there.


	14. Chapter 14

To make up for Oikawa’s rudeness, Kageyama says _Yes_ the next time the team goes out for drinks. Hashimoto is ridiculously pleased, and spends the evening hanging all over Kageyama.

When the night draws to a close, Hashimoto is looking at him with bright eyes, waiting, obviously wanting _more._

Kageyama doesn’t know what to do. He, too, wants something _more_.

But… the _more_ he wants does not involve Hashimoto.

He steps away with a few muttered words of apology, feeling utterly guilty and utterly annoyed with himself.

He turns around as he’s almost out the door. Hashismoto is looking after him, an unusual expression on his face: unhappy, but also resigned.

It happens on his way to class. He’s late, so he's almost running, and he sees, to the left, a tall figure. Taller than himself, which is not that common a sight on campus, and topped with a shock of brown hair. It’s hard to make out clearly in the dim corridor, but he thinks… maybe?… Before he can form any kind of coherent thought – why would Oikawa be _here_ , walking down a corridor to head to class, at a university he does not attend? – he’s turned and started sprinting after the figure. He’s almost reached the guy, he’s going to grab his arm, spin Oikawa around, _tell_ Oikawa, when he realizes – it’s not Oikawa. The smell is all wrong. This guy isn’t even an omega, he’s a beta, which Kageyama should have known anyway, from the height and the build. Oikawa is unusual, in so many ways.

It’s too late, he’s right next to the guy, so instead of taking hold of his arm, as he had planned to do, he purposefully stumbles, unfortunately still bumping into him.

When the guy turns around, Kageyama sees that he’s got a nice, friendly face – he is handsome even. “No problem," he says, flashing a set of white, even teeth.

The smile is inviting. The guy must have been able to feel something of Kageyama’s longing, and he’s open, he’s thinking he might want to reciprocate.

Kageyama blushes and forces himself upright.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry.” And he spins back around. The guy frowns, not quite disappointed – it could have been an actual accident - and Kageyama can feel eyes on his back until he disappears around the corner. He runs to his class, late now, wondering what the fuck is wrong with him.

“Kageyama?” Tsukishima answers the phone, surprise and – is that concern? – in his voice. “Are you okay?”

“How do I get someone out of my head?” Kageyama blurts out. He doesn’t know why he feels nervous. 

There is a long silence. Kageyama braces himself for either confusion or an onslaught of teasing. Miraculously, neither comes.

“Is that what you want?” Tsukishima finally says. “What you really want?”

_No_! is Kageyama’s internal wail of response. He clamps down on it before it leaves his mouth.

“Yes,” he says instead, as firmly as he can.

“There aren’t any good ways that I know of,” is Tsukishima’s less-than-helpful answer. “Except the cliché ones, of keeping busy, and letting time do his work.” There is another pause. “I do think you two belong together, though. I meant it when I said that, before.” Of course Tsukishima knows Kageyama is talking about Oikawa.

Despite himself, Kageyama’s heart leaps at the words, and he breathes in sharply.

Tuskishima, hearing it, adds, “Frankly, neither one of you has the easiest personality. It’s not surprising you would have a few rough bumps. That doesn’t mean you have to give up on it.”

Kageyama stamps down hard on his own stupid, rising elation. _No._ This is not what he needs, this opening himself up to something that is not going to work. Oikawa can be such a prickly asshole! And now that he has paid off his debt to Kageyama, they have no reason to see each other again, except at matches.

Tsukishima, this time, is wrong.

When Kageyama doesn’t say anything, Tsukishima adds, “I’m heading home tomorrow for the long weekend. Will you be there? We could play, if you want?”

It’s a question.

“No,” says Kageyama. How will going home help?

But later, as he’s mulling it over, Kageyama thinks that maybe it would be a good idea to be at home for a few days. Oikawa won’t be there, and it might help clear his head of this nonsense, once and for all.

Exiting the train, his eyes light on the ramen place that Iwaizumi had texted him about last summer. On a whim, he stops in.

The food _is_ tasty.

On the spur of the moment, he snaps a quick photo of the front of the shop, and sends it to Iwaizumi, along with a text.

**Me** : you were right. it’s good.

**Iwaizumi-san:** i know. u home this weekend too?

**Me:** yes

**Iwaizumi-san** : If you’re not busy with your boyfriend, we’re watching a movie at Oikawa’s later.

Is Oikawa spreading that crap about him? Kageyama’s fingers are almost shaking with anger as he texts back.

**Me** : THERE IS NO BOYFRIEND

The strength of the response doesn’t seem to faze Iwaizumi.

**Iwaizumi-san:** then you should definitely come watch the movie. will you join us?

Kageyama’s stomach roils at the thought. He knows it’s not a good idea. The whole point of coming here was to get Oikawa _out_ of his head. But, if Iwaizumi will be there…

**Me** : Yes

It’s weird to be back on Oikawa’s familiar doorstep. Kageyama pauses, then reminds himself that he has a right to be here. He’s been _invited_. He raps sharply on the door.

This time, Oikawa himself swings it open.

“Tobio-chan,” he says delightedly. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Kageyama. Iwaizumi must have told him, of course. “You’re here! What perfect timing! We’re about to start the movie.”

Kageyama’s heart bumps painfully. How could he possibly have thought that coming here was a good idea? That he could handle it? That his feelings would stay submerged? Instead, standing on this doorstep, with Oikawa greeting him so invitingly, they have risen up in full force, almost choking the air out of him. He curls his fingers into his palms to stop himself from reaching out to grab Oikawa.

“I’m not going to s-stay,” he stammers out, in a last-ditch effort to flee. “I just wanted to… say hi.” What a stupid thing to say! Why would he have come all this way only to say hello? He can feel the heat flood his face.

“Come on!" Oikawa beckons him in. "Even _you_ will like this movie. I guarantee it. It’s very funny.”

Feeling like he is walking to his doom, Kageyama steps inside. 

“Don’t look so unhappy, Tobio-chan! Watching a movie isn’t a punishment.”

Kageyama isn’t so sure about that.

Iwaizumi is sitting in his familiar spot in the kitchen..

“Hello, Iwaizumi-san. Thank you for the text,” Kageyama says.

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shoot up. He turns to Oikawa, who is suddenly very busy trying to find something that must be buried deep in the refrigerator.

Iwaizumi mutters, “Shittykawa, I told you to stop…”

Kageyama frowns, looking back and forth between the two of them.

Seeing his puzzled expression, Iwaizumi quickly says, “It was my pleasure, Kageyama. It’s good to see you! How’s your lit class going?”

Iwaizumi absently says “Good, good,” as Kageyama tells him he’s (sort of) enjoying the novel they’re reading now.

Then Iwaizumi rises abruptly from his seat. “Tooru!” he exclaims, evidently suddenly remembering something. “I can't stay after all. I forgot. Today I have the - the ghffluffnn.“ The sentence ends in a choked mumble.

“Iwa-chan, you promised to watch this movie with me,” whines Oikawa.

“Sorry. It slipped my mind. About the fllnnghgnnn.” Again, Iwaizumi’s words descend into unintelligible mumbling.

“You loser,” says Oikawa.

Ignoring this, Iwaizumi says, “Nice to see you Kageyama. Sorry I have to run. Now, if I could only find my phone…” He turns pointedly to Oikawa.

“Iwa-can! It’s here on the counter. You’re so absent-minded!” Oikawa tosses the phone to Iwaizumi, who catches it. He gives Oikawa a decidedly black look as he exits the room.

Oikawa turns to Kageyama. “I guess we won’t have the pleasure of Iwa-chan’s company. Do you still want to watch the movie?” He says it casually, but his eyes flick sharply up to Kageyama’s face.

Kageyama pretends to hesitate, but it’s all for show. Of course he’s staying. He could no sooner leave voluntarily than leap into a fire. 

“Yes,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager. He still has his pride, after all. At least, he’d like to pretend that he does.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone else home. Oikawa makes some popcorn, and he also hands Kageyama a small carton of chilled milk. Kageyama looks at him quizzically as they settle themselves into the couch.

“Yes, I know that’s the only crap you drink,” retorts Oikawa. “Who knows why. No one else I know drinks those things.” Kageyama sticks the small straw into the carton thoughtfully. He’s not sure what to make of this. How does Oikawa know he likes milk? Why are there single-use milk cartons available in Oikawa’s house if no one else drinks them? And why has this one been chilled for Kageyama’s consumption?

He doesn’t have time to ponder these questions further, as Oikawa starts the movie up.

Kageyama tries to focus on the screen, but he has a difficult time of it, with Oikawa only a few feet away. His mind keeps jumping to the last time he was here, and how he was curled up against a solid body, with a gentle hand in his hair.

He tries his best to squash the memory and instead concentrate on what’s in front of him.

Oikawa, on the other hand, is watching the movie raptly, frequently breaking into smiles and small chuckles.

About fifteen minutes in, Oikawa lets out a rich peal of laughter. The sound is one Kageyama has never heard from Oikawa before – not sarcastic, not angry, just sweet and full of merriment. Kageyama hasn’t been following the movie closely enough to know why it’s so funny, but apparently it is, because the laugh deepens until Oikawa is convulsing with it, his eyes crinkled shut, tears trickling out from the corners.

No longer even trying to fake-watch the movie, Kageyama turns his attention entirely to Oikawa.

Oikawa, who can be a complete ass, but who is also, in his own way, kind and generous. Oikawa, who is fierce and driven and wildly intelligent. Oikawa, who had been so unexpectedly, tenderly, vulnerable. Oikawa, who is so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at him. Oikawa, who he is crazy in love with.

Kageyama leans in and feasts his eyes on the sight, until the laughter slows to a hiccuping, gurgling trickle.

The urge to touch is maddening this close up. It doesn’t help that Oikawa’s sweet, tantalizing scent has risen delicately into the air. Tsukishima’s words come back to him: _That doesn’t mean you have to give up on it._

A wave of longing rolls through Kageyama, just like that time when he received the pictures of Oikawa from Iwaizumi. It’s so strong that he feels like he will be crushed under the weight of it. This time, however, instead of running away, he dives into it headfirst.

He’s tossed about in the surf for a few rough moments, then he’s past the breakers, and out in the long, rolling waves.

Once he has recovered enough to speak, he says, in a trembling voice, “Oikawa-san.”

“Y-y-yeah?” says Oikawa, oblivious to Kageyama’s seismic internal struggle and still stuttering with laughter. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and roots around in the couch for the remote, not looking up.

“Oikawa,” Kagyama repeats, his voice deeper.

“Hmmm?” Oikawa answers absently, fumbling to pause the movie.

“ _Tooru.”_ This gets Oikawa’s attention. His head whips up and he stares at Kageyama, all traces of laughter gone. The remote falls from his hand.

Kageyama grabs hold of Oikawa’s arm, the one that wasn’t broken. His grip is too tight, and his heart is beating so hard it feels like it will vibrate out of his chest.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he says, looking directly at Oikawa.

“Yes?” Oikawa whispers. His eyes are giant saucers in his face.

“You’re _mine._ ”

Oikawa’s eyes widen impossibly further. They stare at each other for a long moment, neither one moving. Kageyama waits, the seconds ticking by, Oikawa not responding. But he doesn’t let go, and he doesn’t look away.

And then Oikawa’s face relaxes into a smile.

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Yes, I am.” He gives a faint puff of laughter. “And you’re mine, Tobio-chan.”

Kageyama surges up, almost on top of Oikawa, even as he is pulling Oikawa into him. And then his lips are on Oikawa’s. And it’s such an unbelievable thing, to finally, _finally_ be kissing Oikawa that he rests them there, unmoving, trying to catch up with this rapid turn of events.

Oikawa laughs against his mouth, a faint echo of his earlier merriment.

“Silly Tobio-chan, who doesn’t know how to kiss.” 

He takes Kageyama’s cheeks in his strong, elegant hands and moves Kageyama’s face into position. And then they are kissing, and it’s just right - of course Oikawa knows how to do this properly.

But how _does_ Oikawa know how to kiss? From kissing other people? From kissing Iwaizumi? The thought is an unpleasant one. Oikawa should not be with anyone but Kageyama! A jealous growl rumbles in his throat.

Oikawa pulls back, still holding Kageyama’s face in his hands.

“Iwa-chan has always been my best friend,” he says softly.

Kagayama finds himself instinctively baring his teeth at the use of the pet name.

“But he’s not my mate.”

Kageyama’s eyes flare. He places both hands on Oikawa’s chest and pushes him, firmly, until Oikawa is lying flat on his back. Oikawa’s eyes are again huge in his face as he stares up at Kageyama. Kageyama’s growl deepens, this time with arousal, as he climbs on top of him. And then he is stretched full-length over Oikawa, his mouth on Oikawa’s, his hands roaming over Oikawa’s body, Oikawa’s arms wrapping fiercely around him, and all rational thought ceases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, many thanks to Mazey, and bvoakd and superbundamsensei and DaiKaiju (maybe others? sorry if I am forgetting!) who suggested that Oikawa, and not Iwaizumi, was sending (at least some of) the texts (which I hadn't thought of but i think it works better than how i planned it)


	15. Epilogue

It’s high summer, and Oikawa’s birthday. They are back in Miyagi to celebrate, but at a restaurant this time. Kagayama is sitting next to Oikawa, his arm loosely around the back of Oikawa’s chair. Oikawa is holding court, talking and laughing with his friends. Similar to that first birthday Kageyama attended, only Oikawa’s closest friends are present: Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi, with the addition of Iwaizumi’s boyfriend, former Fukurodani player Akaashi Keiji. These aren’t Kageyama’s closest friends, of course, but he has an easy enough camaraderie with them now. All in all, the atmosphere at the table is pleasant and festive, Akaashi easily holding his own with his sly, dry comments that are like mini-stealth bombs. Kageyama mostly listens to the back and forth chatter, only inserting himself into the conversation every now and again to prove he’s alive.

He will have his time alone with Oikawa later. Oikawa’s father has paid for a hotel room for them, a nice one.

“He’s trying to exorcise his guilt,” Oikawa had said, still angry at him, but not angry enough to refuse the birthday gift. The hotel room has very thick walls – they won’t have to worry about making too much noise – and a huge bed.

At the happy thought of having Oikawa’s naked, unbridled body under his later that evening, Kagyama lets out a barely audible hum. His fingers curl reflexively around Oikawa’s slim waist. Kageyama still has it, this need to stay close to Oikawa, to touch him whenever possible. He tries not to be overbearing about it, and Oikawa is always quick to let him know when it becomes annoying – readily giving Kageyama an elbow jab, a soft push, a light kick, when he wants him to back off. 

Oikawa, in turn, is learning how to retract rather than extend his claws when he’s feeling jealous or vulnerable (which most often arises in relation to his omega status), and not sink them deep into Kageyama. They’re both still growing into the relationship, still learning how to come together as a team rather than clash as two fiercely driven individuals, each saddled with his own weaknesses and insecurities.

Tonight, however, Oikawa is at his sparkling, expansive best. He’s had some calls recently, from scouts. There is interest from at least one professional team.

Kageyama looks at him proudly. He is as excited as Oikawa, even if it does not manifest as showily. He hopes, of course, that this will lead to a contract for Oikawa, one similar to the one he himself recently signed. It won’t be easy, two professional volleyball players, on different teams. But if anyone can make it work, he thinks that they can.

His gaze falls to Oikawa’s long, slender neck. The bond mark is barely visible, just peeking out from under his collar. The reminder that his mark is on Oikawa’s delicious neck, that Oikawa’s is on his own, binding them together, is too thrilling to resist. He simply cannot help himself. He leans in, his curled fingers pulling Oikawa closer.

Oikawa gives a long-suffering sigh. “Excuse me,” he says to the rest of the table, as he turns to face Kageyama.

“Tobio,” he begins. It is probably meant to be a scolding tone, but it sounds more like a caress. Kageyama cuts him off with the briefest of kisses, a soft brushing of lips. It leaves a pleasant tingle on Kageyama’s mouth, and it’s enough. For now. He leans back in his chair, pleased, the hum slightly louder. Oikawa can’t quite suppress his own smile as he resumes the broken-off conversation.

Iwaizumi, across the table, one arm now slung around Akaashi, who is leaning comfortably against him, grins amiably at the two of them. He, also, is pleased.

There is indeed much to celebrate tonight.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_After credits scene:_ **

“Man, that was a hard practice!” says Yamazaki, as the tired group makes its way into the locker room.

“Kageyama, I thought you were going to kill us with your serves!” exclaims Kimura, their libero.

“I’m glad I still have my arms,” Maeda agrees, looking down forlornly at his bruised forearms.

Tomaru sits down and start to untie his shoes. It takes him a moment to realize that a ring of figures has formed around him. He looks up.

“Yeah?” he asks, puzzled.

The figures part in the middle, and Maeda advances. He is holding something which is balanced carefully between his hands.

It is a volleyball, one of the ones that they used in practice today, laid out invitingly on a sparkling silver platter and bracketed by a shining knife and fork.

“A present for you,” says Maeda.

“Huh?” says Tomaru, looking wholly confused.

“Yum, yum!” says Maeda, grinning.

“Delectable!” says Yamazaki.

Kimura makes slurping noises.

“What are you talking about?” asks Tomaru, although he’s starting to get an inkling of what this is about.

A flush creeps up Kageyama’s face as he, too, remembers.

“You can’t deny your words,” says Maeda. “We all heard them. ‘The day Kageyama bonds will be the day I eat my volleyball!’ “

“You’re kidding!” says Tomaru in disbelief.

“Nope!” Maeda shakes his head.

“No way, man! I’m not eating that!” says Tomaru.

“Mmmmm, look at that delicious, encrusted grime,” says Yamazaki, licking his lips and pushing the platter closer to Tomaru.

“Disgusting!” says Tomaru, leaning back as far as he can.

“Flavored with the tastiest sweat!” Kimura says gleefully.

“You can’t be serious!” Tomaru looks truly horrified.

Maeda bursts out laughing. “No. We’re not. But that should teach you to underestimate our King!”

Like a magician, he whips a second silver platter out from behind his back. This one has a volleyball-shaped cake on it, beautifully frosted with the seams that would be on a regular volleyball.

All eyes are on Maeda as he cuts into it and holds out a piece for Tomaru. There are three layers of moist, fluffy cake, separated from each other by thick layers of frosting. 

Still fearing a trick, Tomaru takes a tentative bite.

His eyes widen in surprise. “This is delicious! Where’d you get it?”

“Um. I made it,” volunteers Hashimoto, an embarrassed expression on his face. 

“Since when do you know how to cook? It’s fantastic!” Tomaru quickly gobbles the piece down.

“My older sister was always baking, and I hung around with her.”

“Wow. It’s amazing! Professional quality, dude!”

Tomaru hastily cuts himself another slice and digs in.

“Wait a minute! The cake’s for everyone!” protests Yamazaki.

“No!” says Tomaru, wrapping an arm protectively around the platter. ”Hashimoto-kun made it for _me.”_

There is a chorus of protests.

“I want a piece!”

“Me too!”

“You greedy pig, you can't have it all!"

Kimura makes a grab for it, nearly upsetting the platter.

“Idiot!” growls Tomaru. “You almost dumped this masterpiece on the floor!”

“Then give some to us!”

A brief scuffle ensues, ending with Maeda once again in control of the cake.

Under cover of the excitement, Kagyaema pulls Hashimoto to the side and says, in a low voice. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Hashimoto asks. “Don’t apologize for finding your mate.”

Kageyama, however, feels that it’s important to better explain himself.

“If I hadn’t already been trying to – to work things out,” he blushes, but forges ahead. “I would have been very happy with the – the opportunity – “

“No worries,” Hashimoto interrupts, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

Kageyama isn’t quite done yet. “You’re an excellent wing spiker, and – “

Hashimoto, now a deep red, attempts to head him off once again. “It’s okay, I get it!”

“And a great person,” Kageyama finishes awkwardly.

Hashimoto looks thoroughly mortified, but Kageyama can see that he’s also fighting to contain a smile.

Maeda holds out the last two pieces of cake to Kageyama and Hashimoto. They are only slivers, because Tomaru had sneakily managed to steal a few more slices for himself.

That’s fine with Kageyama.

He’s never been overly fond of sweets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know iwaizumi x akaashi is not a common pairing, but I felt like iwaizumi deserved a serious reward for all his heroic deeds in this fic – someone low on drama (to give him a break from his ridiculously high maintenance childhood best friend) but high on everything else :-), and i think they would be nice for each other (and since this is a fluffy feel-good fic, you have to just assume that Bokutou is happily with someone else, maybe Kuroo? and then Kenma would be with Hinata, or whatever, I don’t know, but it all works out romantically for everyone in this fluffy universe…. 😉)
> 
> thanks for reading!


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